SOMEONE ELSE’S WINDOWS: AN ACID TEST FOR MARCOS
“Someone else’s windows” is a useful metaphor for the current test facing the Marcos administration: the scrutiny of actions taken by predecessors, allies, and institutions that this government did not directly control, yet must now answer for or correct. Whether the subject is past contracts, unresolved corruption allegations, or lingering questions about human rights and accountability, the administration is being asked to look through panes of glass it did not install, but now has a duty to clean. This matters because the line between continuity and complicity can be thin. When a government inherits unresolved controversies, the choice to clarify, investigate, or reform becomes a measure of its own character. The way the current leadership responds to these inherited issues will shape public trust more than any slogan or carefully managed public appearance.
The Philippines has seen this dynamic before. Successive administrations have been confronted with scandals and structural problems that did not begin on their watch, from questionable infrastructure deals to persistent governance gaps. Some chose to revisit the past with high-profile inquiries; others preferred quiet settlements or simple neglect, hoping that time and fatigue would erase public memory. Yet history suggests that unresolved questions rarely disappear; they resurface in the form of cynicism, institutional weakness, or renewed controversy. The Marcos administration, bearing a family name heavily associated with historical debates, operates under an even brighter spotlight when it comes to inherited problems and the sincerity of reform.
This is why the handling of “someone else’s windows” has become an acid test: it reveals whether the administration is primarily focused on stability of the status quo or on building a more transparent and accountable system. On one hand, there is always a pragmatic argument for moving on, avoiding prolonged political conflict, and prioritizing current crises over past disputes. On the other, the public has a legitimate interest in knowing whether questionable decisions, opaque transactions, or alleged abuses will ever face impartial review. Institutions are strengthened not only by new policies, but by the willingness to confront uncomfortable legacies. A government that selectively addresses only the most convenient issues sends a signal about whose interests ultimately matter.
The implications extend beyond partisan politics. Investors, civil servants, and ordinary citizens all read these signals when deciding how much confidence to place in public institutions. If oversight bodies, courts, and executive agencies are seen as capable of revisiting and correcting past errors, they gain credibility. If, instead, they appear hesitant to touch sensitive matters, it reinforces the belief that law and accountability are negotiable. For a country that frequently speaks of reform, modernization, and global competitiveness, the credibility of its institutions may be as important as any infrastructure project or economic program. The test, therefore, is not only about one president, but about the maturity of the political system.
Ultimately, the Marcos administration will be judged not only by what it builds, but by what it is willing to fix. Looking through someone else’s windows is uncomfortable work; it can expose cracks in alliances and invite criticism from powerful quarters. Yet the alternative is to live with distorted glass, where the public sees power as something to be endured rather than trusted. The coming years will show whether this government chooses clarity over convenience, and institutional courage over short-term calm. In that choice lies a defining measure of its place in the country’s democratic journey.
