Does Alan Peter Cayetano realize that if he had not allowed Bato to escape, if he had let the NBI arrest him once the Senate was not in session, we actually could be forgiving him for the coup and giving him a chance to finally win our trust? Ah, but obviously it’s not our trust Cayetano wants to win but our minds that he wants to change re EJKs and Rodrigo Duterte‘s crimes against humanity. Kesyo the drug war was justified because drugs kill. But so did Duterte and Bato and their cohorts, kill, and violently, without mercy. Earl Parreño calls it mythmaking, distorting facts to conceal the abuses of power. 

SP Cayetano’s dangerous mythmaking
Earl G. Parreno
May 25, 2026

Throughout our country’s history, as in many parts of the world, political leaders have relied not only on power, policies, or institutions, but also on myths. These myths are not always outright lies, although some clearly are. More often, they are carefully constructed stories designed to give politicians a sense of moral purpose, shared identity, and historical destiny. They simplify complex realities into narratives that ordinary people can emotionally understand and believe in.

But in political mythmaking, facts often become secondary. The conclusion is decided first; the arguments are constructed afterward. Events are interpreted not according to facts and truth, but according to the larger story leaders want people to accept. Political myths do not merely explain reality. More importantly, they shape how reality itself is perceived.

Alan Peter Cayetano is not the first Filipino politician to weave myths around himself, and he certainly will not be the last. The strongman Ferdinand Marcos Sr. mastered the same craft during his dictatorship. He carefully cultivated images of destiny, discipline, strength, and national rebirth. The Marcos regime subtly echoed the mythology of Malakas at Maganda and promoted the idea that Marcos was “iginuhit ng tadhana” — chosen by fate to lead the Filipino people together with Imelda Marcos. These narratives were potent political instruments designed to shape how people understood authority, legitimacy, and power itself. By wrapping political rule in the language of destiny and national salvation, criticism of the Marcos dictatorship was portrayed not merely as opposition to a political regime, but as an attack on the nation’s supposed historical mission.

Cayetano employs a similar form of mythmaking, although adapted to contemporary politics. When he declared that “Ang campaign against drugs is a human rights campaign, dahil pumapatay ang drugs,” he was doing far more than defending the policies of former president Rodrigo Duterte, in whose administration he played a central role. In the shadow of the ongoing proceedings before the International Criminal Court, Cayetano is attempting to reframe the moral meaning of the drug war itself. In his narrative, the campaign was no longer about extrajudicial killings, impunity, or abuses of state power. Instead, it was a noble mission to save families and communities from destruction. Violence was morally acceptable because the aim was to protect communities. The deaths of drug suspects were reframed as sacrifices made for the greater good of the many.

This rhetorical move is significant because it shifts attention away from the conduct of the state and redirects it toward the supposed danger posed by drugs and criminality. The focus is no longer on whether human rights were violated, but on whether society was being protected. The thousands of victims of tokhang disappear behind the larger myth of protecting citizens from criminality. Once this narrative is accepted, criticism of the drug war can easily be dismissed as indifference to crime, disorder, or the suffering of ordinary citizens affected by drugs.

But the myth that the drug war was a “human rights campaign” is only one part of Cayetano’s broader political mythmaking. Like many politicians, he surrounds himself with overlapping narratives of religiosity, “Christian life,” patriotism, family values, and concern for ordinary Filipinos. These carefully projected images aim to create moral credibility for him. They encourage his supporters to see him not simply as a politician seeking power, but as a public servant guided by higher principles and moral conviction. In this way, his personal branding evolves into political mythology.

Such narratives are powerful because they appeal not only to reason, but also to emotion, identity, and aspiration. His supporters are encouraged to believe that they are participating in something morally righteous and historically important. Political loyalty then becomes tied to personal values, religious beliefs, and even one’s sense of patriotism. Once this happens, political debate becomes more difficult because disagreement is no longer treated as a normal part of democracy. Instead, criticism is framed as hostility toward peace and order, toward the nation, or even toward the Christian faith itself.

The danger of political myths, therefore, is not only that they distort facts but that they also shield leaders from scrutiny. More significantly, it weaken the public’s capacity for critical judgment. Once leaders successfully portray themselves as defenders of morality and protectors of the people, accountability becomes harder to demand. Political narratives then stop helping people understand what is really happening and instead become tools for controlling how people see and interpret reality.

As Reza Aslan writes in God: A Human History of Religion:

“Myths are not ‘false,’ in the way we understand the word today. The significance of myths rests not in any truth claims it makes but in its ability to convey a particular perception of the world. The function of a myth is not to explain how things are but why things are the way they are.”

Every society needs shared stories to create unity and collective purpose. But democracy depends on citizens who can distinguish between narratives that illuminate truth and narratives designed to conceal abuses of power. Critical thinking begins when people ask not only what a political story says, but also what it leaves out, whose suffering it minimizes, and whose interests it ultimately protects.

And this is the danger of Cayetano’s mythmaking. It makes people believe that violence is necessary for peace and order and that killing can be morally acceptable. It makes him appear righteous while hiding behind religion and patriotism.

The public must therefore do more than reject the myth. It must unmask it. -30-