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I used to be bothered by the slogan TAPAT KO, LINIS KO. It sounded almost unpatriotic to me. As though my responsibility ended at the few square meters directly in front of my house. As though the street beyond it, the canal at the corner, the public market, the plaza, the park, the estero, the river, the mountain and the forest belonged to somebody else.
I would rather say: BAYAN KO, LINIS KO.
Perhaps this is one reason we have learned to tolerate a government that does not work as it should. We have become accustomed to taking care of our private spaces while regarding public spaces as nobody’s responsibility. We keep our homes clean while throwing garbage into canals. We complain when the streets flood, but hardly ask whether the drainage system is regularly cleared, whether waterways are properly maintained, or whether flood-control projects actually form part of a coherent plan.
And this goes far beyond cleanliness.
Why do we accept highways built without adequate drainage, roads that flood almost as soon as the rains come, and farm-to-market roads that somehow need repair even before they are properly finished? Why do we tolerate government buildings constructed grandly for ribbon-cuttings but left to deteriorate afterward—broken toilets, dead escalators, leaking roofs, neglected gardens, air-conditioning units exhausting hot air into crowded corridors?
A government that works does not merely build. It maintains.
Maintenance is not glamorous. There is no ribbon to cut when a drainage canal is routinely cleared, when a public toilet is kept clean and functional, when an elevator is repaired before it breaks down completely, when a road is resurfaced at the proper time, when waterways are regularly dredged, or when trees are cared for after they have been planted. Yet these ordinary, unphotogenic tasks are precisely what distinguish functioning public institutions from a culture of pwede na and bahala na.
The same mentality explains why politicians are able to put their names and faces on projects paid for with public money: PROJECT OF CONGRESSMAN SO-AND-SO.
Really? Did he sell his house to build it? Did he empty his bank account? Or was it paid for by the market vendor every time she bought rice, by the teacher whose taxes were withheld from her salary, by the tricycle driver every time he bought fuel?
A road is not a favor. A hospital is not a favor. A school is not a favor. Medicine from a government hospital is not ayuda from a politician. Public money is the people’s money. Public service is not an act of generosity by those in power. It is their duty.
But citizenship also has duties.
We cannot demand a government that works while surrendering the public realm to apathy. We cannot complain about dirty streets while saying, “Hindi ko naman tapat iyan.” We cannot deplore corruption but continue treating politicians as patrons from whom we ask personal favors. We cannot demand accountability only when the consequences finally reach our own homes.
Democracy does not end with choosing our leaders. We also have to watch them, question them, hold them accountable—and care for the common spaces and institutions that belong to all of us.
In that sense, we do get the kind of leadership and governance that we are willing to tolerate. Bad governance thrives not only because there are corrupt officials, but also because there are citizens who have grown accustomed to shrugging their shoulders and saying, Ganyan talaga.
No. It does not have to be ganyan talaga.
Perhaps it is time to enlarge the little territory covered by TAPAT KO, LINIS KO.
The street is ours. The drainage system is ours. The public school and hospital are ours. The rivers and forests and mountains are ours. The taxes are ours. The government itself is ours.
BAYAN KO, LINIS KO.
BAYAN KO, BANTAY KO.
BAYAN KO, PANANAGUTAN KO.
