The word “youth” carries weight. It signals energy, hope, idealism, and rebellion. So when a group like Duterte Youth appears on the ballot, many assume it champions the voices of students, young workers, and those on the edge of adulthood. But in our kind of politics, names often conceal more than they reveal. The Duterte Youth party-list, with its loud branding and quiet legislative track record, has sparked a national debate—not only on who gets to speak for the youth, but on what party-list representation really means in our democracy.
Founded in 2016 by Ronald Cardema, the group was originally formed to support President Rodrigo Duterte’s campaign and later, the burial of Ferdinand Marcos at Libingan ng mga Bayani. Early on, it positioned itself not just as a political group, but as a counterforce to progressive youth movements. Cardema’s statements have often drawn parallels to nationalist youth groups abroad, and though he dismissed comparisons to the Hitler Youth, the branding choices raise eyebrows. Still, symbolism aside, the group has pursued recognition as a legitimate representative of the Filipino youth.
In 2019, Duterte Youth ran in the party-list elections with five initial nominees, all of whom eventually withdrew. Cardema, then chair of the National Youth Commission and beyond the allowable age for youth representatives, attempted to substitute himself. This triggered a legal firestorm. As per Republic Act No. 7941, youth sector nominees must be aged 25 to 30 on election day. Cardema was 34. The Commission on Elections (COMELEC) ruled against his substitution, stating there was material misrepresentation. Yet the party-list seat was eventually filled—by Cardema’s wife, Ducielle Marie Suarez Cardema.
For critics like Kabataan Party-list Representative Renee Co, the Duterte Youth’s very claim to youth representation is questionable. She argues that the group does not reflect the struggles of ordinary youth: the battle for accessible education, fair employment, mental health support, or human rights. Instead, they associate the Duterte Youth with red-tagging, pro-administration cheerleading, and policy positions far removed from the grassroots concerns of students and out-of-school youth. Others see the group’s presence in Congress as a political reward rather than a reflection of a marginalized sector.
Still, numbers do not lie. In the 2025 elections, the Duterte Youth garnered over 2.3 million votes, placing second among party-list groups. That figure cannot be dismissed. To their supporters, that vote count affirms legitimacy. The group insists it has nationwide reach and claims to serve not just youth, but young professionals—an interpretation that conveniently bypasses the strict age requirements of the law. They argue that Comelec’s suspension of their proclamation is unjust and politically motivated, even filing a petition to the Supreme Court to compel their recognition.
The suspension, however, was not without legal basis. Comelec clarified that pending disqualification cases—filed as early as 2019—remain unresolved. Groups like Kabataan Tayo ang Pag-asa and election lawyers argue that Duterte Youth’s registration itself should be voided due to misrepresentation. As a matter of procedure, Comelec opted to withhold proclamation until these questions are settled, a move deemed prudent by many legal observers.
This clash reveals the deeper cracks in our party-list system. Designed to amplify marginalized voices, the system has too often been gamed by dynasties, proxies, and interest groups. The Duterte Youth saga is a symptom, not the disease. Senator Panfilo Lacson once remarked that such manipulation turns the party-list law into a national joke. Harsh, but not baseless. When parties named after sectors fail to authentically represent them, public trust erodes.
Still, fairness demands that we view the issue from all sides. The Duterte Youth has followed certain rules, filed documents, and participated in elections. They have also faced intense scrutiny—some of it arguably political. Their pushback against the Comelec and threat to expose alleged corruption within the agency, though dramatic, reflects real frustrations with bureaucratic opacity. If anything, it exposes the need for tighter, clearer standards for party-list participation.
Reforming the system requires both legal clarity and civic honesty. Age limits, sectoral representation, and public accountability must mean something. If the youth sector is to be represented, then youth voices—not just pro-youth slogans—should be in Congress. If professionals are the intended constituency, then the label must change. Pretending to be both dilutes the purpose of each.
Let this controversy spark something better than partisan mudslinging. Let it ignite a broader conversation about how we define representation and who gets to speak on behalf of whom. Let the young be truly heard—not just counted as votes or used as campaign hashtags. After all, representation should not be a loophole. It should be a promise kept.
The Duterte Youth’s fate now lies in the hands of the Comelec and the Supreme Court. Whatever the legal outcome, it should serve as a wake-up call. Our democracy deserves more than cosmetic labels and procedural gymnastics. The next time we see the word “youth” on a ballot, may it reflect not just age or allegiance—but authenticity.
Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.
