THE CHILD IN THE FLOOD: A WAKE-UP CALL FOR A DYING REPUBLIC

THE CHILD IN THE FLOOD: A WAKE-UP CALL FOR A DYING REPUBLIC

There he lies—still, fragile, nameless to most, but known by heaven.

A child. Swept by the flood. Cradled not by a crib, but by the wreckage of a Republic that failed to protect him.

And the Palace dares to say we’re not broken?

We are a failing Republic.

Because corruption has become the grammar of our governance. It is spoken from barangay halls to the palace. Transacted with handshakes. Justified with spin. Dressed in suits. Paraded in ribbon-cuttings.

Public service has turned into a business model.
Governance—into a headline act.
Integrity—a relic for funerals.

But worse than corruption is our collective surrender.

We’ve learned to live with rot and call it routine.
We rage online. We comment with fury. We curse at the news.
BUT WE DON’T MOVE.

We’ve mistaken noise for courage, and hashtags for hope.

We’ve gone numb.

We tell our children to dream—then hand them a country where merit dies and connections win.

We wear patriotism during elections, but sell our votes for favors.

We long for heroes, while refusing to rise ourselves.

This is what learned helplessness looks like—
Not ignorance, but survival dressed in silence.
Not apathy, but exhaustion mistaken for peace.

We expect nothing from those in power.
So we demand nothing from ourselves.

And so the cycle deepens:

• Barangay bribes evolve into city hall rackets.
• City corruption graduates into national plunder.
• President speaks of “transparency” while signing budgets that bleed the people dry.

This is how a Republic dies:
Not with tanks on the streets, but with tired hearts that stop believing change is possible.
Not by dictatorship, but by collective decay.
Not by one man’s ambition, but by everyone else’s indifference.

But this child—this lifeless child in the flood—calls us back.

To feel.
To weep.
To rage.
To rise.

He did not ask to be a symbol.
But his silence speaks what our conscience can no longer ignore:

That every corrupt signature,
Every unfulfilled infrastructure promise,
Every padded budget and ghost project,
Every cowardly silence in Congress,
Every staged press release while families drown…
Has a cost.
AND SOMETIMES THAT COST IS A CHILD.

But it is not too late.

The Republic can still be saved—
Not by noise.
Not by blame.
Not by messiahs we keep waiting for.
But by you. And me. And us.

By a generation that chooses to feel again.
To fight again.
To believe that silence in the face of evil is not neutrality—it’s complicity.
That peace built on fear is not peace, it’s participation in decay.

We must rise not in anger alone, but in love.
Not to burn down our country, but to rebuild it—
one honest vote, one courageous voice at a time, one unrelenting march.

Let the child in the flood be the last.

Let his stillness awaken your strength.
Let his silence speak louder than your comfort.
Let his death be the prophecy of a Republic reborn.

••••

📷 CTTO

POETIC EDITORIAL | ROB RANCES

Disclaimer: This is an artistic and symbolic commentary protected under freedom of expression. It does not promote sedition, incitement to violence, or rebellion, but seeks to awaken civic conscience and moral clarity through creative, prophetic, and emotionally resonant reflection.