Elections in Canada and the Philippines: A Tale of Two Systems
This article examines the contrasting electoral systems of Canada and the Philippines. While Canada’s elections are marked by formality and minimal fanfare, elections in the Philippines are often chaotic, with issues like political dynasties and violence. The author reflects on their personal experiences with both systems, hoping for meaningful change in the Philippine political landscape.
In the bustling realm of politics, Canada and the Philippines present two very different stories—one marked by thoughtful deliberation, and the other rife with chaos and spectacle. As I report from Saskatoon, the dust from Canada’s most recent federal election might be settling. I was on-site back in 2021 at Maxime Bernier’s People’s Party of Canada on election night at Saskatoon Inn, and this current coverage feels like a full circle moment for me.
Looking back, we had the provincial elections in October last year where, despite the Saskatchewan Party securing their fifth consecutive majority, they could not sweep every region. The Saskatchewan NDP notably doubled their representation, demonstrating shifting dynamics that caught my eye. Then came city elections in November, with Cynthia Block making history as the first female mayor, alongside Senos Timon, whose migration story makes his role as the city’s first African-descendant councillor even more remarkable.
Over the past six years in Saskatoon, I’ve observed how elections here diverge significantly from the noise and festivity of campaigns in my home country, the Philippines. The campaigning here is straightforward, with just lawn signs and flyers, which is a huge contrast to the colorful, lively processes I’m accustomed to from Manila.
Right now, the Philippines is gearing up for elections to fill 18,198 varied positions like provincial and municipal seats, including 12 Senate spots. I returned home recently and not only was it scorching, with temperatures hitting 41 degrees Celsius, but it was also campaign season, which meant noise-filled streets and a visibility of candidates everywhere you looked. This too, brought some frustrations: early morning kampay jingles blaring, while candidates’ large, flashy posters were plastered almost everywhere, drowning the urban landscape in campaign colors.
The diverse campaign strategies seen in the Philippines can sometimes be disheartening. Particularly in rural areas, the violence can be alarming. Candidates have been known to be targeted by gunmen, alleged rivals behind the scenes, which adds a grim undertone to the political festivities. Moreover, the culture of vote-buying remains a notorious practice, exacerbated by a backdrop where politicians sometimes prey on the desperation of the most vulnerable constituency.
There’s a pattern with Philippine elections that’s hard to shake—candidates espousing pro-poor narratives while some eventually abandon those ideals. The reality? Many candidates come from well-established political dynasties. They back this dynastic style, turning public service into a family affair. A case in point is the political race happening in Las Piñas where relatives have had power since the ‘60s, seemingly incapable of breaking away from tradition.
On the Senate front, the list gives an interesting perspective too—while some candidates come from progressive backgrounds, most are actors or figures with dubious backgrounds, including those connected to current senators. It begs the question of why they’re vying for legislative positions traditionally filled with seasoned professionals from law or economics, but I guess familiar faces still carry weight in Filipino politics.
As for Filipino voters, the reality is complicated. A lack of informed decision-making runs rampant, especially among the most impoverished. Many are captivated by the entertaining aspects of campaigns—those singing, dancing candidates often overshadow the serious issues at hand. The sad reality is that candidates with serious allegations can still gain political traction, like disgraced Pastor Apollo Quiboloy, showing flaws in our election system.
Senators are crucial. They’re in charge of crafting and refining laws and spending laborious hours in research to file meaningful bills, yet many seem unprepared for the responsibilities they pursue. My recent visit to Marilao, where familiar faces of the underprivileged reminisce past promises, reveals a disheartening cycle of patronage politics. The cultural debt of gratitude—\”utang na loob\”—keeps communities shackled to the same politicians by exploiting the favors given to them.
Even as we settle in Canada, I hold on to the hope for change back home. I dream of seeing deeper representation in the Philippine Legislature, where the marginalized can finally have their voices heard and seen in legislation. I want to witness a nation where every Filipino child has real opportunities for quality education and employment. Transformative transparency in governance is essential; taxpayers’ money should serve the needs of citizens, not just enrich a select few.
The political landscapes in Canada and the Philippines reveal striking contrasts in how elections are conducted and how citizens engage with their leaders. While Canada’s election process leans towards formality and restraint, the Philippines embodies a more chaotic and often violent tradition. This disparity should inspire reflections on how governance and civic engagement can evolve, especially in areas grappling with entrenched political dynasties and patrons. There’s an underlying hope for change—where marginalized voices can find a place in the political arena, and governance becomes accountable to the people it serves.
Original Source: www.sasktoday.ca
