Every March, we are made to believe that the Philippines is a “woman-friendly” nation. For 31 glorious days, we bask in initiatives dedicated to female artistry and empowerment, hoping to live a vision of equality. This year, however, Filipinas were granted a mere 72 hours in this reverie before being dragged back into the grueling reality. Behind the pink confetti and purple banners, misogyny continues to be maintained not through grand gestures of malice, but with the compounding weight of “jokes.” As words become weapons for oppression, disparity is reinforced in a woman’s everyday life through the sharp edges of commentary that slip unnoticed by the law.
Just three days into the esteemed month, Rep. Bong Suntay made lewd remarks about Anne Curtis during a high-profile impeachment hearing under the guise of an “analogy.” Suntay proclaimed his sexual fantasy about the actress with a crassness more befitting a locker room than a public legislative session.
On its own, the casual act of objectification in the House of Representatives is a staggering blow to public trust. However, the true weight of the incident emerges only when the mask of “humor” is stripped away to unveil a rigid refusal of accountability. As Suntay defended his statement and dismissed its harmful implications, the situation revealed how Filipino institutions perpetually reduce, commodify, and erase women’s identities in lieu of patriarchal conventions.
Under the Safe Spaces Act, such comments are not mere jokes; they are legally recognized as harassment. While the Bawal Bastos Law is designed to protect Filipinos from gender-based violence in public and online spaces, it does little to protect women from daily microaggressions masked as snide commentary. Until today, Suntay faces no repercussions and takes no accountability for his actions, forcing us to ask: If an act of blatant objectification and harassment can be made in the House, then what guardrails are left for women in their everyday lives?
For Filipinas, safe spaces remain a distant dream in a society that weaponizes language and humor to perpetuate misogyny. Beyond shielding ourselves from physical assault and inequality, women are also forced to navigate the complex psychological terrain of structural belittlement in everyday dialogue. After all, it is no mere coincidence that gendered vocabulary frames femininity as a sign of weakness, that the greatest insult for cowardice refers to female genitalia, or that public comments on a woman’s appearance often aim to either objectify or crucify.
Following the September 21 protests, videos of youth activist Nathalie Geralde’s impassioned speech quickly gained traction—not for its message, but for its perceived flaws. Instead of engaging with her advocacy, commenters were quick to mock her dark underarms. Against political upheavals, supposedly harmless jabs were crafted to disparage Geralde’s platforms. In a similar experience during high school, whenever I became even mildly spirited about a subject, my male counterparts were quick to ask if I was “on my period.” Other times, they would then “jokingly” label me a “slut” for wearing clothes that hinted at a cleavage, or showed even the slightest brush above the knees.
These examples are far from harmless banter; they illustrate common scripts designed to erode a woman’s authority and foster doubt in her competence. While their impact may appear intangible, such subtle malice seeps into our cultural practices and, in turn, normalizes misogyny in our everyday lives. Unfortunately, this culture of microaggressions is driven by a superstructure that has grown increasingly bold in recent years.
The rise of misogynistic politics in the Philippines has done more than just influence policy; it has reintroduced sexist language as the ultimate display of power and control. When we allow public figures such as former President Rodrigo Duterte to make jokes about rape, Sen. Robin Padilla to dismiss the significance of consent, or congressional candidates like Christian Sia to treat female constituents as sexual objects, we convey to the population that a woman’s dignity is not her own, but public property. We tell women and young girls that their comfort is a secondary concern, negotiable for the sake of a “punchline” to feed male ego.
It is not enough to craft safe spaces for physical well-being; we must also demand mental security through uncompromising accountability for the words we choose to weaponize. In the end, misogyny cannot be solved with a single policy—it is a systemic rot that requires a systemic cure. While laws serve to punish once an offense has been committed, we must not wait for the damage to be done. In unraveling pervasive sexist rhetoric, we must intervene even before thoughts are formulated, beginning where we first shape our understanding of the world.
Formal education should act as the first line of defense against ignorance and insensitivity. We must dismantle the pervasive myth that “jokes are just jokes,” and instead teach children and the youth that language is the primary tool through which inequality is either reinforced or rejected. Through the curriculum, we must strive to foster accountability and intention behind every word uttered.
The celebration of women cannot be confined to the numbered days of a month. Building safe spaces should not be a seasonal performance; it is a steadfast commitment that perseveres long after the confetti has been swept away. As we attempt to rewrite these institutionalized scripts, let us raise a generation that understands a nation’s safety is only as good as the language it communicates with. Instead of urging women to reshape their lives around the piercing words of sexism, let us build a culture where a woman’s honor is spoken into existence, crafting a future where dignity is not a seasonal gift, but the very foundation of our everyday life.