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Can leadership still be called leadership when its loudest achievement is outrage, and its quietest absence is accountability? “If I wasn’t President, I might be out in the streets with them.” That’s what President Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. had the gall to say as citizens filled the streets to protest anomalous and defective flood control projects worth billions of pesos. A dramatic line, almost cinematic—except Malacañang today is wrapped in new wires, gates, and police barricades. The President says he’s “with the people,” but from where exactly? From behind steel fences and a battalion of police? The symbolism is impossible to miss: a leader sealed in, a public shut out. Marcos claims he is “angry” at corruption in the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH), particularly the flood control projects riddled with ghost deliveries, overpriced contracts, and failed drainage systems. At least ₱33 billion worth of these projects were either delayed, substandard, or left unfinished. That’s taxpayer money drowned in bureaucracy while Filipinos wade through floods every monsoon season. Yet instead of prosecuting officials or blacklisting erring contractors, the Palace prioritizes barricades. Action against corruption is promised; fences against people are delivered. According to the Commission on Audit, over ₱35 billion in flood control projects from 2022–2024 remain defective, overpriced, or abandoned. Families lost their homes and livelihoods while government funds floated away into pockets. That’s not just corruption—it’s negligence. Bulacan, Pampanga, and Metro Manila spent weeks underwater after typhoons, while billions disappeared into private accounts. So when Marcos insists he is “angry too,” forgive us if we’re not comforted. Anger is free. Accountability costs. And so far, the only things built on schedule are fences, not drainage systems. If the President truly wanted to stand with the people, he would stop barricading himself and start tearing down the rot. That means naming and prosecuting DPWH officials who enabled plunder, blacklisting contractors with a record of failure, and creating a citizen-led watchdog of engineers, scientists, and independent auditors—not just appointees feeding on patronage. It also means redirecting bloated confidential funds into climate-resilient infrastructure. Instead of secrecy, invest in flood retention basins, updated drainage mapping, and mangrove rehabilitation—solutions that actually save lives. And most importantly, if Marcos is serious about “solidarity,” he should face the people directly. Imagine Malacañang opening its halls for town halls with flood survivors, experts, and rally leaders. That would show courage. That would show leadership. Not wires and gates. History sharpens the irony. In 1972, his father declared Martial Law, fortifying himself with checkpoints and barbed wire. In 2025, the son proclaims empathy yet fortifies the Palace in the name of “security.” Different words, same walls. Let’s call this what it is: political doublespeak. A President who claims empathy but practices exclusion. Who denounces corruption but tolerates incompetence. Who applauds protests from afar while shielding himself from them. Anger without accountability is not leadership—it is performance. And performance is what this administration does best. So when Marcos says he’d be “out in the streets” too, the irony is unbearable. If he truly feels that anger, why isn’t he out there now—not as a rallyist, but as a leader dismantling the system that allowed theft to thrive? Why are fences rising faster than the drainage systems meant to save us? The irony is heavy, but the floods are heavier. And unless Marcos turns his words into accountability, those wires around Malacañang will stand as the truest symbol of his presidency—not protection, not security, but distance from the very people he swore to serve. So let me rephrase his statement for him: “If I wasn’t President, I might be out in the streets with them. But since I am President, I’ll stay behind gates, perform empathy on camera, and hope my fences hold long enough to muffle their voices.” Real leadership is tested not in declarations of anger, but in the courage to confront and correct what angers the people. Unless, of course, he finally realizes that the solution is not in imagining himself as a rallyist—but in proving himself as a leader. In the end, the truest measure of leadership is not how fiercely one speaks of anger, but how faithfully one delivers accountability when the nation is drowning in failure. Every leader owes his people not borrowed outrage, but the costly service of accountability—anything less is merely performance, and performance without accountability is nothing but outrage without outcome.