We are not lacking in evidence. We are drowning in it. Paper trails, testimonies, bank records, whistleblowers, congressional hearings — one scandal after another, each more brazen than the last. And, yet, nothing changes. Not in the one place where it matters most: the minds of the faithful.
Political supporters in this country do not process evidence; they repel it. They begin with a demand for proof, as if they are open to persuasion, as if they are willing to be convinced. But the moment proof is laid bare, the rules change. The evidence becomes tainted, its sources questioned, its origins politicized. When the evidence is independently corroborated and verified, they shift again, now claiming that everything is part of a coordinated attempt to destroy their leader. What began as a demand for truth ends as an elaborate exercise in denial.
The goalposts do not simply move; they are designed never to stay in place. What we are witnessing is not a search for truth but a performance of disbelief, rehearsed and perfected over time. When cornered, supporters deploy the oldest deflection in politics: they point to the corruption of others. The conversation is redirected, diluted, and eventually lost. Wrongdoing is no longer confronted on its own terms but weighed against other wrongdoing, as if corruption were a balancing act rather than a violation that demands accountability.
What makes this more troubling is the intensity of the defense. The reaction is no longer intellectual; it is emotional, even visceral. Presenting evidence is treated as an attack, and criticism of a political leader is interpreted as a personal insult. Supporters do not merely disagree; they feel wounded. In that moment, the discussion ceases to be about public accountability and becomes a defense of identity.
Criminological and social psychological theories help explain this pattern. Cognitive dissonance, as developed by Leon Festinger, suggests that individuals experience psychological discomfort when confronted with information that contradicts their beliefs. Instead of revising those beliefs, they reinterpret or reject the information to preserve internal consistency. This is reinforced by motivated reasoning, where individuals selectively accept evidence that confirms their loyalties and dismiss those that challenge them. In such a framework, truth is no longer objective; it is filtered through allegiance.
Social identity theory further deepens the problem. Political allegiance becomes part of one’s identity, a marker of belonging in an increasingly polarized environment. To admit that one’s political idol is corrupt is to admit personal error, and for many, that is a cost too high to bear. The result is a doubling down on belief, even in the face of overwhelming evidence. What we are seeing is not ignorance but a systematic refusal to know.
Social media has amplified this condition. Algorithms reward outrage and certainty, not reflection or nuance. Supporters gather in echo chambers where their beliefs are constantly reinforced and rarely challenged. The loudest voices dominate the discourse, shaping narratives that others adopt and repeat. Over time, repetition creates familiarity, and familiarity begins to resemble truth. This is how misinformation thrives, not because it is inherently persuasive, but because it is relentlessly repeated.
In my work on corruption and the political class, I have argued that corruption in the Philippines is not only structural or organizational but deeply cultural. It is sustained by networks of patronage, weak institutions, and elite collusion. However, it is equally sustained by a public that applies accountability selectively. Corruption is condemned when it is politically convenient and excused when it is not. This inconsistency allows corrupt practices to persist, shielded by the very citizens who should be demanding reform.
Consider the recurring scandals in flood control projects. Massive public funds are allocated, yet communities continue to suffer from preventable disasters. The evidence of corruption surfaces repeatedly, and public outrage follows. But the outrage is fleeting, quickly absorbed into partisan narratives. If one’s political allies are implicated, the issue is minimized or reframed. If opponents are involved, it becomes definitive proof of systemic failure. The facts remain constant, but their interpretation shifts depending on allegiance.
The same pattern emerges in controversies involving confidential funds, unexplained wealth, and insider testimonies. Each revelation enters a deeply divided public sphere where it is not evaluated on its merits but judged based on who stands to gain or lose politically. In such an environment, accountability becomes secondary to loyalty. Justice is no longer a principle but a tool, applied unevenly and often strategically.
This erosion of accountability has profound consequences. When corruption is normalized or excused, it becomes embedded in the system. Institutions weaken, public trust declines, and the rule of law is undermined. More importantly, those who suffer the most from corruption are often the same individuals who defend the system that perpetuates it. They are the ones affected by inadequate infrastructure, delayed justice, and limited public services. Yet they remain loyal, not because they are incapable of critical thought, but because their lived experiences have tied them to political figures who, at some point, made them feel seen or represented.
This dynamic is consistent with studies on patronage politics, where support is maintained through personal relationships and perceived benefits rather than institutional performance. In contexts where the state fails to deliver consistently, political loyalty becomes a survival strategy. Leaders are not evaluated based on systemic reforms but on their ability to provide immediate, tangible benefits. In return, supporters offer protection, often overlooking or rationalizing misconduct.
However, loyalty without accountability is not a virtue. It is a condition that allows abuse to flourish. When supporters refuse to confront wrongdoing within their own ranks, they become part of the problem. They create an environment where corruption is not only possible but sustainable.
It is important to emphasize that corruption is not confined to one political group. Allegations against one faction do not negate those against another. The corruption of the Dutertes can be real, just as corruption in flood control projects can be real. These are not competing truths; they are cumulative. Recognizing one does not require denying the other. In fact, meaningful reform depends on acknowledging all instances of wrongdoing, regardless of political affiliation.
The challenge, therefore, is not simply to expose corruption but to cultivate a consistent standard of accountability. This requires a shift in how citizens engage with political information. It demands a willingness to scrutinize evidence objectively, to question sources critically without dismissing them outright, and to hold leaders accountable regardless of personal or political preferences.
Such a shift is not easy. It requires confronting uncomfortable truths and reevaluating deeply held beliefs. It requires humility, the recognition that one’s previous judgments may have been flawed. More importantly, it requires prioritizing principles over personalities, a commitment to the idea that no individual or group is above accountability.
The current state of political discourse, dominated by noise and polarization, makes this difficult. Conversations are reduced to exchanges of accusations, with little room for reflection or understanding. In this environment, truth struggles to emerge, often buried beneath layers of rhetoric and deflection. The result is a cycle where corruption persists, unchallenged in any meaningful way.
Breaking this cycle begins with individual responsibility. Citizens must resist the urge to defend blindly and instead engage critically. They must recognize that accountability is not an attack but a necessary condition for good governance. They must understand that defending wrongdoing, regardless of the perpetrator, ultimately harms the very society they are trying to protect.
In the end, the issue is not merely about political leaders but about the standards we uphold as a society. If we continue to excuse corruption based on allegiance, we forfeit our ability to demand better governance. We become complicit in the very system we claim to oppose.
The choice is stark but unavoidable. We can continue along the path of denial and division, where loyalty overrides truth and corruption thrives in the shadows. Or we can commit to a more difficult path, one that requires consistency, integrity, and the courage to confront wrongdoing wherever it appears.
The outcome of that choice will determine not only the quality of our politics but the future of our institutions and the well-being of our people. – Rappler.com
Raymund E. Narag, PhD, is an associate professor in criminology and criminal justice at the School of Justice and Public Safety, Southern Illinois University, Carbondale.


