As a thought exercise – I’m publishing this premortem because I don’t want to argue from certainty; I want to argue from failure. A premortem starts by assuming we already failed, then forces me to name the causes, including my own biases. Writing it this way makes me show what I think can’t fail, what I suspect will fail, who I instinctively blame, and where my weaknesses live. If you see me defending sacred cows or glossing over risks, call it out.
If I were a technical president — a reformer who believed in radical transparency, rapid automation, and open data — I would begin with conviction that technology and truth could fix what politics could not. My administration would digitize government, automate bureaucracy, and prioritize transparency above all else. I would build systems where public funds, procurement, and decisions are all traceable. I would pour billions into protecting whistleblowers, empowering universities and NGOs to build citizen-led audit systems, and creating an open-source infrastructure for the country.
My belief would be that if corruption bleeds one-third of our economy, then transparency and technology could reclaim it. I would see schools, volunteers, and civil groups as allies — the foundation of a decentralized system that constantly checks power.
But even with all that, I could still fail.
Leni and Vico are examples. Both are competent, ethical leaders who succeeded locally because their reforms were personal and close to their communities. But at the national level, they would face what I would face: a population where two-thirds can be easily swayed by propaganda, manipulated into resentment against people they do not know, and conditioned to look for saviors instead of systems. In a tribal, regional society, identity will always outweigh process. No matter how transparent, how fair, or how inclusive a policy is — tribal loyalty will override national logic.
I would fail not because the technology was wrong, but because people would not yet be ready to defend transparency against manipulation. The oligarchs would not need to stop me; they would only need to let the masses tire of me. Counter-propaganda would portray me as too slow, too distant, or too arrogant. My very effort to open every process would make me vulnerable to distortion. My own technical expertise and my drive to systematize everything would isolate me. I would be too focused on fixing, and not enough on building human bridges.
I would engage the academe and the youth — believing they are the hope of reform — and I would forget how vulnerable they are. They can be intimidated, manipulated, and silenced. They have too much to lose and too little protection. I would promise whistleblower protection and allocate resources to defend them, but I would underestimate how dangerous the forces I’m challenging truly are. In the Philippines, where journalists and investigators are killed in drive-bys every year, courage comes at a cost most cannot afford to pay. I would forget that people can only fight for so long before fear, fatigue, or survival take over.
In the end, even the right ideas can fail when culture, perception, and narrative are against them. Transparency and automation can reveal truth, but they cannot replace trust. Without a shared belief that the truth matters more than tribe or personality, even the best systems will be dismantled by those who fear them most.
If I were to hold power, I would remember this: progress needs both structure and story. It needs people to believe in what they cannot yet see — that a country can be built not on tribe, but on trust.
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