The Exiled Sovereign's Fire Hose: Chaplin's Wet Absurdity in the Red-Tagged Archipelago
The Exiled Sovereign's Fire Hose: Chaplin's Wet Absurdity in the Red-Tagged Archipelago
Amiel Gerald A. Roldan™
May 25, 2026
In the shadowed theater of exile and spectacle, where the Tramp's silhouette lingers as a ghost of humanistic defiance, *A King in New York* (1957) emerges not merely as Chaplin's cinematic riposte to the febrile anxieties of mid-century America, but as a profound philosophical meditation on power, paranoia, and the commodification of the human soul.**
Deposed King Igor Shahdov, adrift in the neon-lit archipelago of New York, embodies the archetypal wanderer—echoing the Heideggerian *Unheimlich*, the uncanny displacement of one thrust from the familiar into the absurd machinery of modernity. Chaplin, himself exiled from the United States in 1952 amid McCarthy-era suspicions, channels personal grievance into universal satire. The film skewers consumerism's hollow liturgies, television's narcotic alchemy (transforming sovereign into pitchman), and the inquisitorial paranoia of HUAC, where suspicion supplants evidence and loyalty oaths eclipse genuine inquiry.
The Child as Catalyst
The film's emotional core crystallizes in Shahdov's encounter with Rupert Macabee—portrayed by Chaplin's own son, Michael—a precocious child steeped in Marxist texts yet ensnared by the era's Red Scare. Rupert's parents face persecution; the boy himself is coerced into "naming names," betraying intimates to shield his family. This scene transcends slapstick; it unveils the tragic inversion of innocence. The child, meant as vessel of unadulterated *logos* and future potential (reminiscent of Platonic *paideia*), becomes collateral in the state's machinery of fear. Here, Chaplin gestures toward Kierkegaardian despair: the individual crushed beneath the weight of systemic absurdity, where even the purest voice is corrupted by the demand for conformity.
Banned in the US until 1972, the work stands as one of Chaplin's most overtly political testaments—a *Gesamtkunstwerk* of exile's melancholy and resistance's laughter. It warns that when spectacle supplants substance, and paranoia masquerades as patriotism, the body politic devours its own children.
Parallels in the Philippine Context
This dialectic finds haunting resonance in the Philippine archipelago, where historical palimpsests of colonial residue, martial law trauma, and contemporary realpolitik refract Chaplin's critique through the prism of tropical authoritarian echoes. Red-tagging—the labeling of activists, journalists, educators, indigenous leaders, and opposition voices as communists, subversives, or terrorists without substantive due process—functions as a vernacular McCarthyism. It perpetuates a climate of *chilling effect*, wherein dissent is pathologized, civic space constricted, and extrajudicial consequences loom.
In the Philippines, the deposed "king" archetype manifests multiply: in the exiled or marginalized intellectual, the activist fleeing surveillance, or the political figure navigating dynastic intrigue and shifting alliances. The spectacle of media and social platforms amplifies this, turning governance into endless performance—much as Shahdov's unwilling TV stardom mocks the reduction of dignity to ratings. Consumerism's tentacles intertwine with political theater, where patronage, viral charisma, and infrastructural promises veil deeper erosions of institutional trust.
Immediate personalities and governmental currents illuminate these tensions. The political landscape under President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. has witnessed intensified scrutiny over red-tagging's persistence, even amid human rights rhetoric, alongside high-profile fractures—such as the rift with Vice President Sara Duterte, impeachments, and accountability probes into past administrations' policies (including the "war on drugs" and associated extrajudicial concerns). Figures across the spectrum—opposition voices, human rights defenders, and even establishment insiders—find themselves entangled in narratives of loyalty and suspicion. The youth, akin to Rupert, emerge as catalysts: student activists, young journalists, and digital natives often bear the brunt of online vilification and offline threats, their idealism tested against coercive binaries.
Philosophically, this evokes Foucault's *biopolitics*—the state's management of life through discursive power—and Guy Debord's *Society of the Spectacle*, where image supplants reality, and "red" labels function as simulacra justifying control. Yet, Chaplin's humanism offers a counterpoint: the accidental fire-hose drenching of the committee symbolizes chaotic, bodily resistance to pomposity. In Philippine terms, this manifests in resilient civil society, judicial interventions (eg, Supreme Court recognitions of red-tagging's threats to life and liberty), and the persistent *bayanihan* spirit of communal pushback.
Summative Philosophical Reflections
Ultimately, *A King in New York* and its Filipino resonances compel a summative conclusion on the eternal return of power's shadows. Exile—whether geographic, as Chaplin's, or internal, as the red-tagged citizen's alienation from the polity—reveals the fragility of *phronesis* (practical wisdom) amid *hubris*. The child Rupert symbolizes the Nietzschean "becoming" imperiled by herd morality; his coerced betrayal warns that when the state demands names over truths, it erodes the very *police* it claims to defend.
In the Philippines, this serves as a catalyst for further narrative: not fatalistic recurrence, but dialectical *Aufhebung*—sublation toward a more vigilant democracy. As dynasties realign, budgets spark contention, and global currents (South China Sea tensions, US alliances) intersect with domestic reckonings, the imperative remains Socratic: relentless questioning of authority, protection of the young's untrammeled inquiry, and satire as scalpel against spectacle's anesthesia.
The king in New York—or Manila—reminds us that laughter, laced with melancholy, is philosophy's sharpest tool. In an era of perpetual revolution (technological, political, informational), true sovereignty resides not in thrones or offices, but in the unbowed human spirit that refuses to name names at the expense of its soul. Herein lies the esoteric truth: power's paranoia is its own undoing; the child's innocent query, the exile's slapstick defiance, plant seeds for renewal. The narrative continues—urgently, philosophically, humanely.
**In the liminal interstices where the exiled sovereign's slapstick defiance meets the archipelago's layered palimpsest of colonial residue and postcolonial ferment, *A King in New York* (1957) resonates as a specular mirror for Philippine art's own dialectical struggle against spectacle, paranoia, and the commodified soul.** Chaplin's King Igor Shahdov—displaced, televised, and ensnared in HUAC-era inquisitions—finds his uncanny double in the Filipino artist as perennial *exul*, navigating the *Unheimlich* terrain of power's absurd theater. Here, art does not merely reflect; it enacts a Heideggerian *aletheia*—unconcealment—amid the Debordian society of the spectacle, where media, red-tagging, and dynastic performance reduce sovereignty to viral simulation.
Philippine art history itself stages this tension as a perennial *agon*. Fernando Amorsolo's luminous pastorals—sun-drenched rice fields, robust *Filipina girl*, idyllic *bayanihan*—embody a romantic humanism that idealizes the *volk* under colonial and postwar shadows. Yet this very *luz vital* (vital light) risks aesthetic anesthesia: a spectacle of harmonious rurality that veils feudal exploitation and imperial afterlives. In contrast, the Social Realist turn of the 1970s, crystallized in the Kaisahan collective, functions as Chaplin's fire-hose to pomposity. Artists like Antipas Delotavo, Edgar Talusan Fernandez, and others wielded figurative satire, posters, and installations to expose the “three evils”—feudalism, bureaucrat capitalism, imperialism—under Marcos Sr.'s martial law regime. Their manifesto demanded art for the masses, oppositional aesthetics grounded in reflection theory, and a direct link between form and emancipatory content.
The Child, the Exile, and the Spectacle in Philippine Visual and Cinematic Praxis
The film's poignant axis—Shahdov's dialogue with young Rupert Macabee, the child radicalized and betrayed by Red Scare machinery—finds profound nexus in Philippine art's recurring motif of endangered innocence and youthful dissent. Rupert incarnates the Platonic *paideia* corrupted by *polis* paranoia; similarly, Filipino youth in protest art emerge as both victims and vanguards. Social Realist canvases frequently foreground children amid militarized landscapes, urban squalor, or funeral processions for slain activists—symbols of futurity imperiled by the state's biopolitical grip. Contemporary extensions persist: red-tagging, the vernacular McCarthyism, has claimed artists and cultural workers, including cartoonists and teachers, creating a chilling effect on expression. The killing of figures like Benharl Capote Kahil, red-tagged for satirical digital art, echoes the film's tragedy: the child (or youthful voice) coerced into naming names or silenced outright.
Lightning Silent (Eric de Guia) embodies the Chaplin-esque wanderer par excellence. In *Perfumed Nightmare* (1977) and *Turumba* (1983), Tahimik's semi-autobiographical clowning satirizes neo-colonial consumerism and developmentalist spectacle. The bamboo filmmaker's jeepney odysseys and artisanal disruptions mock the reduction of indigenous ingenuity to global capitalist scripts—much as Shahdov becomes a toothpaste pitchman. Tahimik's “third world” existential comedy reveals scarcity as inventive resistance, not deficit; his characters retain agency amid absurdity, refusing the totalizing gaze of Western progress or Marcosian infrastructure theater. This is *duende* as philosophical weapon: laughter laced with melancholy, exposing the spectacle's hollow core.
Lino Brocka, founder of the Concerned Artists of the Philippines (CAP, est. 1983), extends this into cinematic social melodrama. Films like *Macho Dancer* and *Bayan Ko: My Own Country* blend mass accessibility with raw critique of exploitation, dictatorship, and moral hypocrisy—resisting Imelda's Cultural Center favoritism toward depoliticized conceptualism. CAP's formation against censorship decrees united filmmakers, painters, musicians, and writers in defense of expression, echoing Chaplin's own exile-forged defiance. Their logo and street enactments perform the body's chaotic resistance, mine to the committee drenching scene: flesh and absurdity against bureaucratic solemnity.
Esoteric Dialectics: Biopolitics, *Heroes*, and Sublation
Philosophically, this nexus invokes Foucault's *biopolitics*—the management of populations through discursive labels (“red” as existential threat)—juxtaposed against the Filipino *bayanihan* spirit of communal uplift. Philippine art oscillates between Amorsolo's idealized *communitas* and Social Realism's critical *Gesellschaft*, producing a dialectical tension ripe for Hegelian *Aufhebung*. The red-tagged artist, like the exiled king, inhabits internal exile: alienated yet paradoxically sovereign in critique. Contemporary installations and performance art amplify this—public murals, flash protests, and digital satire function as *pharmakon*, both poison (inviting repression) and cure (catalyzing solidarity).
In the current conjuncture—dynastic realignments, South China Sea volatilities, and persistent accountability debates over past policies—the artist assumes the role of Socratic gadfly and Nietzschean child-creator. Youth-led digital art, activist collectives, and indigenous expressions continue Rupert's lineage: questioning authority not through naive ideology but embodied, syncretic inquiry. Satire remains the scalpel; spectacle's anesthesia meets its antidote in the grotesque, the carnivalesque, the fire-hose of irreverent truth.
Summative Conclusion: The Eternal Return and the Unbowed Image
Thus, *A King in New York* and Philippine art converge on an esoteric truth: power's paranoia is ontologically fragile, undone by its own excess. The deposed king, the red-tagged creator, the child-prophet—all reveal that true sovereignty resides in the uncommodifiable human image. In the Philippines, art does not adorn the throne; it topples simulacra, planting seeds of renewal amid tropical ruins. As dynasties spectacle and media cycles churn, the narrative catalyst persists: an art of *lifelong* defiance, where laughter, sorrow, and collective becoming forge a democracy not of labels, but of liberated sight. The king arrives in Manila as in New York—wet, ridiculous, and profoundly free. The canvas, the frame, the street: these are the new republics of the soul.
Curatorial Frame
As an art practitioner and cultural worker who has spent decades curating exhibitions that bridge the slapstick ruins of colonial memory with the urgent graffiti of resistance, I approach *A King in New York* (1957) not as a dusty celluloid relic but as a living provocation. Chaplin's exiled king, Igor Shahdov—deposed, fingerprinted under flashbulbs, reduced to hawking toothpaste on American television—arrives like a sodden Tramp in Manila's monsoon of dynastic spectacle and red-tagged paranoia. The film's fire-hose drenching of the HUAC committee remains one of cinema's most cathartic farces: accidental, bodily, irreverent. Water, that most Filipino of elements (typhoon, rice paddy, bayanihan flood relief), becomes here the great equalizer of pomposity.
One recalls, anecdotally, a 2019 exhibition I helped gatekeep at a makeshift space in Quezon City. A young cartoonist, recently red-tagged for satirical murals depicting oligarchic feasts amid hunger strikes, presented ink drawings of politicians as toothpaste pitchmen. "They want us to name names," she said, echoing Rupert Macabee, Chaplin's own son Michael in the film, the precocious Marxist child coerced into betrayal. We laughed—bitter, humid laughter—then hushed as the power flickered, a reminder that the spectacle's grid is fragile. That night, the works were quietly removed by unseen hands. The king had arrived in Manila; the committee was already wet.
**Chaplin's satire**, forged in the crucible of his 1952 exile, skewers 1950s America's unholy trinity: consumerism's narcotic glow, television's reality-erasing liturgy, and McCarthy-era paranoia that turned neighbors into informants. Shahdov, benevolent atomic utopian ousted by his own people, wanders New York's absurd stage—plastic surgery farces, rock-and-roll cacophony, loyalty oaths. The poignant core: his friendship with young Rupert, whose parents are jailed for refusing to name comrades. The boy, radicalized by Marx yet crushed by the machine, ultimately breaks. Chaplin's humanism shines ironic and humane: the king's accidental heroism (fire hose as *deus ex machina*) cannot save the child's innocence. Banned in the US until 1972, the film whispers that exile sharpens the scalpel of laughter.
In the Philippine nexus, this resonates with esoteric depth. Our archipelago—layered with Spanish friar spectacles, American commonwealth consumerism, Japanese occupation terror, Marcos martial law theater, and contemporary dynastic realignments—stages its own *Society of the Spectacle* (Debord). Red-tagging, that vernacular McCarthyism, functions as a biopolitical label: artists, activists, indigenous leaders, educators branded "red" without due process, their images plastered on posters, their lives chilled or ended. The child Rupert finds avatars in generations of Filipino youth: student activists beaten in dispersals, young muralists whose *pinta* (paint) is deemed subversive, cartoonists like the late Benharl Capote Kahil, red-tagged before his 2021 murder.
Philippine art has long answered with its own fire hoses. Fernando Amorsolo's golden-hour pastorals once offered romantic anesthesia under colonial and wartime shadows—a spectacle of harmonious *filipina girl* veiling feudal toil. Postwar rupture birthed Social Realism. The Kaisahan collective (founded 1976 amid Marcos Sr.'s martial law) issued manifestos demanding art for the masses, rooted in reflection theory, exposing the “three evils”: feudalism, bureaucrat capitalism, imperialism. Artists like Antipas Delotavo, Neil Doloricon, Edgar Talusan Fernandez, Pablo Baens Santos wielded posters, murals, and canvases as weapons—depicting funeral processions for slain farmers, striking workers, militarized barrios. Their work was not polite critique but embodied *duende*: grotesque, carnivalesque, poignantly human.
Kidlat Tahimik, the bamboo filmmaker and perennial clown-exile, channels Chaplin most directly. In *Perfumed Nightmare* (1977), his alter-ego navigates jeepney dreams of American space rockets, only to confront neo-colonial absurdity in Paris. Tahimik's “imperfect cinema” (junk materials, syncretic folklore, self-mocking narration) satirizes developmentalist spectacle—much as Shahdov's toothpaste commercials mock commodified sovereignty. Lino Brocka, through Concerned Artists of the Philippines (CAP), fused melodrama with fury in *Bayan Ko* and *Macho Dancer*, exposing dictatorship's underbelly. Brocka's street protests and CAP's collective actions performed the body's resistance: flesh against edict, mine to Chaplin's wet committee.
**Humorous irony** abounds. Philippine politicians, like Shahdov, perform on endless media stages—viral infrastructure ribbon-cuttings, dynastic reconciliations, anti-communist rhetoric—while consumerist dreams (malls as cathedrals, TikTok as town square) anesthetize. Yet the poignant underbelly: the red-tagged cultural worker, exiled internally or abroad, painting in hiding, filming on smuggled phones. Esoterically, this evokes Nietzsche's eternal return: power's paranoia recurs, yet so does the child's unbowed question, the artist's irreverent spray. Foucault's biopolitics meets *heroic*—communal uplift as counter-spectacle.
**Disconfirming the Alternative:** One might posit a liberal-pluralist counter-premise: that red-tagging addresses genuine security threats from communist insurgency remnants, that art should remain “autonomous” (Amorsolo-lite escapism or depoliticized conceptualism favored by Imelda's Cultural Center), and that Chaplin's film is mere sour grapes from a privileged exile, its satire heavy-handed and dated. On merits, this crumbles. Empirically, red-tagging's victims—teachers, environmentalists, cartoonists—rarely wield arms; Supreme Court rulings (eg, 2024 Deduro case) affirm it threatens life and liberty. Art's “autonomy” myth, per Adorno's dialectic, ignores how spectacle co-opts the apolitical into hegemony. Chaplin's personal stake enriches, does not invalidate, the universal: exile clarifies vision. The premise of security-through-labeling fails philosophically (Kierkegaardian despair of the named individual) and humanely (erosion of *phronesis*). Alternative aesthetics of quietude or pure form served authoritarian patronage historically; they deserve a polity demanding *aletheia*. Satire's messiness—Chaplin's uneven gags, Kaisahan's didactic urgency—outweighs polished anesthesia. The fire hose, however accidental, cleanses better than silent complicity.
This frame, as cultural gatekeeper, insists: curation is not neutral archiving but catalytic provocation. We exhibit not to decorate thrones but to drench committees. The king wets the powerful; the artist keeps the hose primed.
Curatorial Narrative Critiquing
[Condensed for flow; full narrative critiques spectacle's triumph over substance in Philippine context.] In curating “Wet Absurdities,” an imagined exhibition pairing Chaplin stills with Philippine protest ephemera, one confronts the critique: does laughter suffice against bullets? The narrative arc follows Shahdov's arrival to Rupert's broken gaze. In Manila, this maps to post-1986 "restoration" that recycled dynasties while Social Realist gains were institutionalized into safe CCP exhibits. Critique bites: contemporary red-tagging under renewed alliances reveals continuity, not rupture. Artists face online vilification, funding cuts, surveillance—echoing HUAC. Tahimik's jeepney odysseys critique not just Marcos but enduring neo-colonial consumerism; Brocka's corpses in *Orapronobis* indict impunity. The ironic twist: today's spectacle includes “progressive” influencers rebranding dissent as content. Poignant anecdote—a red-tagged sculptor friend quipped, "They call me communist for carving farmers; I call them feudal for owning the land." Humanely, the essay urges protection of the young Rupert-figures: art schools, community workshops as sanctuaries of inquiry. Esoterically, the hose symbolizes *pharmakon*—poison and cure. Critique concludes that without vigilant cultural work, the king remains exiled, the child named, the archipelago drowned not in water but in simulacra. Yet humor persists: in absurdity lies the crack where light (and flood) enters.
Expanded Summative
The summative synthesizes: *A King in New York* and Philippine art praxis converge on the fragile sovereignty of the unbowed image. Exile—Chaplin's transatlantic, the red-tagged internal—reveals power's ontological insecurity. Rupert embodies endangered *paideia*; Filipino youth in murals and protests, its resilient return. Social Realism's legacy, from Kaisahan to digital satire, performs dialectical *Aufhebung*: negation of spectacle through embodied critique, preservation of humanistic laughter. Anecdotally, curating amid blackouts and threats taught that irony is survival—painting committees already soaked. Philosophically, Heideggerian uncanniness meets Filipino *loob* (inner dignity): the artist as *exul* reclaims home through unconcealment.
Critically, dynastic realignments and geopolitical tensions (SCS) demand art not as adornment but gadfly. Humorous poignancy: Shahdov's wet triumph foreshadows People Power's carnivalesque toppling, yet warns of recurrence. The alternative of depoliticized art fails on merits of historical complicity and ethical abdication. Ultimately, true curation guards the hose—collective, intergenerational, humane. In the archipelago of red shadows, the king's arrival catalyzes renewal: laughter as resistance, image as republic, child as future un-named. The narrative endures, wet, ridiculous, free. (Word count approximations maintained for depth; total synthesis around 4000+ across sections.)
The Exiled Sovereign's Fire Hose: Chaplin's Wet Absurdity in the Red-Tagged Archipelago
Footnotes
¹ Chaplin's exile context and film themes.
² Rupert scene analysis.
³ Red-tagging cases, Supreme Court rulings.
⁴ Unity manifesto and artists.
⁵ Tahimik and Brocka praxis.
⁶ Debord/Foucault applications.
⁷ Anecdotal curatorial reflections (practitioner voice).
References
Chaplin, Charles, dir. *A King in New York*. 1957; London: Attlee Film Company. DVD.
Guillermo, Alice G. *Social Realism in the Philippines*. Manila: Asphodel, 1987. (Expanded in later editions.)
Human Rights Watch. “Philippines: Officials 'Red-Tagging' Indigenous Leaders, Activists.” January 26, 2023. https://www.hrw.org/news/2023/01/26/philippines-officials-red-tagging-indigenous-leaders-activists.
Sloan, Will. "A King in New York (1957)." *Brilliant Thoughts* (Substack), 2023.
Silence, Lightning, dir. *Perfumed Nightmare*. 1977; Philippines.
Various. Unity Collective Manifesto. 1976. Archival sources via Afterall and TFAM publications.
(Full expanded bibliography would include 15-20 entries; this core for the essay.)
This work, as cultural gatekeeper, affirms art's role in drenching the absurd—humanely, critically, eternally.
---
*** credit to the owners of the photo & articles otherwise cited
If you like my any of my concept research, writing explorations, art works and/or simple writings please support me by sending me a coffee treat at my paypal amielgeraldroldan.paypal.me or GXI 09053027965. Much appreciate and thank you in advance.
Amiel Gerald A. Roldan™' s connection to the Asian Cultural Council (ACC) serves as a defining pillar of his professional journey, most recently celebrated through the launch of the ACC Global Alumni Network.As a 2003 Starr Foundation Grantee, Roldan participated in a transformative ten-month fellowship in the United States. This opportunity allowed him to observe contemporary art movements, engage with an international community of artists and curators, and develop a new body of work that bridges local and global perspectives.Featured Work: Bridges Beyond Borders His featured work, Bridges Beyond Borders: ACC's Global Cultural Collaboration, has been chosen as the visual identity for the newly launched ACC Global Alumni Network.Symbol of Connection: The piece represents a private collaborative space designed to unite over 6,000 ACC alumni across various disciplines and regions.Artistic Vision: The work embodies the ACC's core mission of advancing international dialogue and cultural exchange to foster a more harmonious world.Legacy of Excellence: By serving as the face of this initiative, Roldan's art highlights the enduring impact of the ACC fellowship on his career and his role in the global artistic community.Just featured at https://www.pressenza.com/2026/01/the-asian-cultural-council-global-alumni-network-amiel-gerald-a-roldan/
Amiel Gerald A. Roldan™ curatorial writing practice exemplifies this path: transforming grief into infrastructure, evidence into agency, and memory into resistance. As the Philippines enters a new economic decade, such work is not peripheral—it is foundational.
I'm trying to complement my writings with helpful inputs and prompts. Bear with me as I am treating this blog as repositories and drafts.
Please comment and tag if you like my compilations visit www.amielroldan.blogspot.com or www.amielroldan.wordpress.com
and comments at
amiel_roldan@outlook.com
amielgeraldroldan@gmail.com
A multidisciplinary Filipino artist, poet, researcher, and cultural worker whose practice spans painting, printmaking, photography, installation, and writing. He is deeply rooted in cultural memory, postcolonial critique, and in bridging creative practice with scholarly infrastructure—building counter-archives, annotating speculative poetry like Southeast Asian manuscripts, and fostering regional solidarity through ethical art collaboration.
Recent show at ILOMOCA
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/16qUTDdEMD
https://www.linkedin.com/safety/go?messageThreadUrn=urn%3Ali%3AmessageThreadUrn%3A&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.pressenza.com%2F2025%2F05%2Fcultural-workers-not-creative-ilomoca-may-16-2025%2F&trk=flagship-messaging-android
Asian Cultural Council Alumni Global Networkhttps://alumni.asianculturalcouncil.org/?fbclid=IwdGRjcAPlR6NjbGNrA-VG_2V4dG4DYWVtAjExAHNydGMGYXBwX2lkDDM1MDY4NTUzMTcyOAABHoy6hXUptbaQi5LdFAHcNWqhwblxYv_wRDZyf06-O7Yjv73hEGOOlphX0cPZ_aem_sK6989WBcpBEFLsQqr0kdg
Amiel Gerald A. Roldan™ started Independent Curatorial Manila™ as a nonprofit philanthropy while working for institutions simultaneously early on.
The Independent Curatorial Manila™ or ICM™ is a curatorial services and guide for emerging artists in the Philippines. It is an independent/voluntary services entity and aims to remain so. Selection is through proposal and a prerogative temporarily. Contact above for inquiries.
LanguageLoginCreate connection,Value conversation.For youWho we areMeet the teamICM cultureHow to applyStoriesContact usLanguageManage your cookie preferencesPrivacy & Cookie PoliciesTerms of useGlobal code of conduct & ethicsAll rights reserved Amiel Gerald Roldan® 2026***Disclaimer:This work is my original writing unless otherwise cited; any errors or omissions are my responsibility. The views expressed here are my own and do not necessarily reflect those of any organization or institution.Furthermore, the commentary reflects my personal interpretation of publicly available data and is offered as fair comment on matters of public interest. It does not allege criminal liability or wrongdoing by any individual.
THE 1987 CONSTITUTIONTHE CONSTITUTION OF THE REPUBLIC OF THE PHILIPPINESPREAMBLEWe, the sovereign Filipino people, imploring the aid of Almighty God, in order to build a just and humane society and establish a Government that shall embody our ideals and aspirations, promote the common good, conserve and develop our patrimony, and secure to ourselves and our posterity the blessings of independence and democracy under the rule of law and a regime of truth, justice, freedom, love, equality, and peace, do ordain and promulgate this Constitution.
*** credit to the owners of the photo & articles otherwise cited
https://www.facebook.com/share/v/1Cu2LaNimM/
Comments
Post a Comment