By: Margaret Jane Piatos
In Southeast Asia, political reform is like a game of musical chairs. In the past year alone, both the Philippines and Indonesia have faced waves of public outrage over corruption and governance failures, and each time, their leaders responded by rearranging it.
In early 2024, the Philippines was submerged: literally and politically. A massive ₱500-billion (US$10.15 billion) flood control program, designed to protect provinces from typhoon damage, became the center of a national scandal after reports revealed that much of the funding had become “ghost projects.” Entire floodwalls existed only on paper, and many communities in Pampanga and Bulacan watched their homes drown again during the rainy season. Days later, President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. announced a sweeping cabinet reshuffle, replacing several high-profile leaders in what he called a “renewal of government integrity.” But few believed that new faces meant new ethics.
The Philippines reshaped nearly every branch of government. The Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) Secretary Manuel Bonoan stepped down amid investigations, replacing former Department of Transportation Secretary Vince Dizon, who swiftly demanded courtesy resignations from senior officials and filed graft complaints against implicated contractors.
The Senate, too, saw upheaval. Francis “Chiz” Escudero was ousted as Senate President, accused of delaying impeachment proceedings and linked to firms that profited from flood projects, and Vincent “Tito” Sotto III reclaimed the presidency. In the House of Representatives, Speaker Martin Romualdez, a cousin of the president, resigned following allegations of budget insertions, succeeded by Faustino “Bojie” Dy, who vowed “zero tolerance” for corruption.
To many Filipinos, this felt more like repositioning than reform. The symbolism was clear: in a country where corruption routinely erodes public trust, reshuffling the cabinet may avoid the headlines, but it cannot rebuild the foundations of integrity.
Across the sea, Indonesia was living through its own spectacle. In October of 2025, mass protests erupted across Jakarta, Surabaya, and Yogyakarta after police killed a motorcycle taxi driver during a labor demonstration. The protests, initially about police brutality, soon grew into a broader indictment of corruption and elite privilege. Lawmakers’ generous housing allowances, rising food prices, and the widening gap between politicians and citizens fueled resentment. Just a week later, President Prabowo Subianto unveiled his second major cabinet reshuffle since taking office.
Purbaya Yudhi Sadewa, former head of the Deposit Insurance Corporation, became Finance Minister. Djamari Chaniago replaced Budi Gunawan as Coordinating Minister for Political and Security Affairs. The Minister of Youth and Sports, Dito Ariotedgo, was replaced by Erick Thohir, a businessman and former Minister of State-Owned Enterprises. President Prabowo also announced a new Hajj and Umrah Ministry, expanding what he called the “Merah Putih Cabinet,” although it had the opposite effect.
Indonesians were unconvinced. For many, the reshuffle symbolized not renewal, but repetition, not addressing the public’s demands. Instead of reform, it appeared to be a disguise to project control while preserving political loyalty: the same robust networks, merely rearranged.
Both Prabowo and Marcos rely on reshuffling as a political strategy rather than a governance tool. It suggests responsiveness, even if nothing changes beneath the surface. What makes this cycle so dangerous is not merely the corruption itself, but the illusion of progress it sustains. Each reshuffle is framed as a cleansing measure, yet it reinforces the same networks of patronage and elite exchange that enabled the corruption to begin with.
This illusion of reform carries beyond politics. Foreign and domestic confidence wavers as fiscal accountability weakens. Inequality deepens when funds intended for infrastructure or welfare are diverted into private interests. Most dangerously, public cynicism grows. The more leaders rely on reshuffles to manage outrage, the more fragile their democracies become.
In this way, the Philippines and Indonesia are mirror images of one another: vibrant democracies on paper, but systems still driven by personal loyalty and patronage. Each government appointment rewards alliances, and each scandal threatens them. But corruption is not just tolerated; it becomes institutionalized. Until they stop playing musical chairs, every promise of reform will sound the same.