What We Defend
The apartment was dim except for the television light flickering across the walls.
Outside, Davao was alive in the usual way. Karaoke somewhere down the block. Tricycles splashing through puddles. A drunk man laughing too loudly in the alley.
Inside, the atmosphere felt suffocating.
On the TV, Sara Duterte’s face appeared beside another breaking headline.
CONFIDENTIAL FUNDS UNDER SCRUTINY.
Again.
Marie muted it without looking.
“You shared another post defending her,” she said quietly.
Leo stayed leaned back on the plastic chair, phone still in his hand.
“So?”
“So?” She turned toward him slowly. “Mura’g wala naka gikapoy?”
He shrugged.
“Kapoyan man pud ta sigeg paminaw anang media nga obvious kaayo ang agenda.”
Her lips parted slightly like she could not believe he was still saying it.
“Agenda.”
“Aw unsa man diay?” he snapped. “Sukad sauna init naman nang mga taga Manila sa mga Duterte.”
There it was again. Always there beneath every argument. Manila. Bisaya. Us versus them.
Marie sat down across from him. “No,” she said softly. “Dili nani about Manila.”
He scoffed immediately. “Easy for you to say.”
“Leo,” she said carefully, “naa nay hearing. Naay records. Naay signatures. Naay testimonies. Even former allies are speaking.”
“And people lie.”
“Everyone?”
He didn’t answer. The electric fan rotated between them with a dry clicking sound.
Click. Click. Click.
Marie looked at him for a long moment. “You know what I notice?”
He stayed silent.
“The more evidence appears…” her voice trembled slightly, “the more aggressive imong pagdepensa.”
His jaw tightened. “Kay samok naman gud kaayo nang mga tao nga murag nalipay nga gina-atake ang Davao.”
“See?” she said immediately. “Mao gyud na.”
He frowned. “Mao unsa?”
“You keep saying Davao.” He looked confused, irritated. “Kay taga-Davao man ta.”
“No,” she said, eyes starting to glisten. “You talk about them like sila ang Davao.”
That hit something. Small. But deep. He looked away.
“Do you even hear yourself anymore?” she asked.
His pride flared instantly. “Unsay pasabot nimo?”
“I mean every criticism against one family feels like an insult to your identity.”
He laughed bitterly. “Kay di man gud ninyo masabtan unsa sila ka importante diri.”
“Nganong importante man kaayo?” she shot back. “Because they made you feel seen?”
Silence. Dangerous silence.
Marie watched his face shift. She didn’t see anger; she saw a memory. She remembered the way his shoulders used to stiffen years ago when relatives from Luzon would joke about the "provinces." She remembered him grit his teeth at the TV whenever Mindanao was only mentioned for bombings or poverty.
She remembered the day he first saw a man who sounded like him—loud, crude, unapologetically Bisaya—commanding the attention of the entire world. For the first time, Leo hadn't felt like a secondary citizen. He had felt feared. He had felt significant.
“I understand nganong attached ka nila,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I saw how happy you were when people finally had to listen to our accent. I know how much it meant to you.”
Leo looked at her quietly now. Not defensive. Just tired.
“But attached enough to ignore corruption?”
His eyes hardened again. “Wala pa gani proven.”
Marie suddenly stood up. “MY GOD.”
The force in her voice made him flinch.
“Unsa pa may kailangan nimo?!” she shouted. “Video nga ga-count sila ug kwarta? Signed confession?!”
He stood up too now. “Dili man gud ko pareho ninyo nga mutuo dayon sa tanan!”
“Nobody asked you to believe everything!” she cried. “Pero ngano murag impossible para nimo nga mahimong corrupt sila?”
His breathing grew heavier. “Kay daghan silag nabuhat!”
“And that makes stealing acceptable?”
“I didn’t say that!”
“Then what ARE you saying?!”
The room exploded into silence. Outside, thunder rolled faintly across the city. Leo rubbed his face aggressively.
“You don’t get it,” he muttered.
“No,” Marie whispered painfully. “I think I do.”
He looked at her. Really looked at her. And suddenly she seemed less angry than heartbroken.
“You know what hurts the most?” she said.
Leo said nothing.
“You’re not stupid.”
That stung immediately. “Don’t.”
“No, listen.” Tears gathered in her eyes now. “You’re informed. You read. You analyze things deeply. But when it comes to them…” Her voice cracked. “Murag mawala imong critical thinking.”
His chest tightened. Because part of him knew that too. Knew how quickly he questioned every politician except this family. Knew how he demanded proof from critics while accepting excuses from allies.
Not because the evidence was weak. But because accepting it felt like a betrayal of himself.
Marie stepped closer. “I think you built part of yourself around them.”
Leo’s eyes flickered.
“And now you don’t know who you are without that loyalty.”
That one shattered something. He looked away immediately, but she had already seen the fear beneath the pride. Years of identity tangled into Facebook arguments and family dinners. To admit the corruption now would mean admitting that the "pride" he felt was built on a lie.
Leo’s voice came out weaker this time. “Dili man gud lalim dawaton nga basin sayop ta.”
The room went quiet. Finally. Honest.
Marie’s tears fell silently now. “I know,” she whispered.
Leo sat back down slowly like his legs suddenly felt heavy. “Murag…” he struggled for words, “murag gikawatan pud ko.”
She looked at him sadly. Because that was the real wound. Not the money. Faith. Faith in people who carried his accent and made him feel visible. And now, every headline felt like a personal robbery.
Marie knelt in front of him. “But you know what makes it worse?” she asked softly.
Leo looked up.
“Kanang despite all of that…” her voice broke completely now, “you still choose them over the truth.”
He could not answer. Because deep inside, he knew she was no longer talking about politicians. She was talking about the kind of man he was becoming.