China’s blacklist: A badge of honor

The word war between Philippine lawmakers and Chinese Ambassador Jing Quan showed no signs of subsiding this week. Calls for the Chinese envoy to be sent home intensified even after the Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA) summoned Jing to explain his threat of military defeat against the Philippines, saying that such threats have no place in the country.

Malacañang’s response was widely seen as timid. The DFA appeared reduced to issuing statements that did little to move beyond its familiar diplomatic rhetoric. It failed to pursue decisive measures that would hold the Chinese envoy accountable and make clear that his actions carried consequences. No wonder the embassy called us “bluffers.”

Emboldened, the Chinese Embassy issued fresh threats, warning that Philippine officials calling for its envoy’s ouster would also be unwelcome in China. This followed a joint statement by nine House members condemning Jing’s provocative remarks, then a resolution declaring him persona non grata, now signed by ten lawmakers. Their initiative echoed separate resolutions filed in the Senate by Senators JV Ejercito and Risa Hontiveros.

The Chinese Embassy promptly announced that the lawmakers had all been placed on a so-called list. The embassy, which has now morphed into a troll farm, also unleashed a barrage of social media attacks against various lawmakers, using language that was anything but diplomatic. Many saw this as brinkmanship designed to intimidate legislators and discourage others from following suit.

But the embassy’s antics had the opposite effect. Rather than retreating into silence, the targeted lawmakers fired back, declaring their inclusion in its list “a badge of honor.” Rep. Chel Diokno’s Akbayan Party said they would “wear the designation with pride.” Pinoy Workers Rep. Karl Legazpi called it “a small price to pay” for standing up for Filipino fishers bearing the brunt of China’s aggression in the West Philippine Sea.

Students also joined the fray with an ingenious countermeasure. In a statement prepared by the Student Council Alliance of the Philippines (SCAP) and signed by more than a hundred student councils, youth groups, and young leaders, they declared Jing banned on their campuses. Their message was simple. China is not the only one capable of making lists. They have the Chinese envoy on their list too. They asserted that Jing’s threats and false narratives have no place in their schools, and that their action was in solidarity with Filipino fishers and frontliners. They vowed to launch massive protests if the Chinese envoy dared to set foot on their campuses.

Filipino netizens are also circulating their own lists online. One list (Team Pilipinas) celebrates Filipino patriots who defy China, including lawmakers from both chambers of Congress, the 16 local government leaders of the Municipality of Kalayaan, among the first to be banned by China, and Defense Secretary Gilbert “Gibo” Teodoro, who, along with his family, was subjected to a Chinese travel ban.

The other is a list of “Tsinadors,” which includes incorrigible senators Alan Peter Cayetano, Robin Padilla, Jinggoy Estrada, Bato dela Rosa, and several others. It also includes Vice President Sara Duterte, whose family has faced scrutiny over allegations involving financial transactions linked to China, including P319 million in remittances through a banana-chip company.

And, of course, there is Clarita Carlos, the short-lived national security adviser during the early part of the Marcos administration, a relic exhumed from some forgotten corner of a museum, now inexplicably thrust back into the limelight. Her putrid remark sought to gaslight Filipinos into believing they had no right to protest Chinese aggression because their undies were made in China. This is her brilliant contribution to public discourse. A statement that practically reeks of piss-soaked subservience and treason. It’s not difficult to see why she only served as security adviser for six months.

Unsurprisingly, the Tsinadors are also rabid devotees of the “karton god” Rodrigo Duterte, his twice-impeached daughter, and the rest of their dynasty. Their loyalties serve as yet another reminder of the alarming nexus between the Duterte dynasty, allegations of massive corruption and abuse of power, and a treasonous posture toward China. For many Filipinos, the question is no longer merely whether these politicians have failed to stand up to Beijing, but whether their actions and allegiances betray the very flag and country they claim to serve.

In a way, I am glad that China made a list. In trying to intimidate Filipinos, Beijing has inadvertently allowed us to examine the loyalties and political choices of our leaders. The competing lists have become tools of discernment and judgment, prompting citizens to compare rhetoric with actions and ask who stands with Filipino fishers, who challenges foreign coercion, and who seems more concerned about not offending Beijing than defending the country.

This is a struggle over political and cultural hegemony. China’s list seeks to stigmatize patriotic dissent and impose a cost on our resistance. The Filipinos’ counter-lists challenge that foreign power by reclaiming the right to name, scrutinize, and judge. We assert that trade relations do not require submission, diplomatic courtesy does not mean silence, and military and economic power does not equate to domination.

Chinese ambassador Jing Quan has awakened something far more powerful than the fear he hoped to inspire. He unwittingly helped consolidate a broader show of resistance among Philippine legislators, local officials, students, fisherfolk communities, and ordinary Filipinos. It has also sharpened public scrutiny of those accused of kowtowing to Beijing at the expense of Philippine interests.

The Chinese regime has given us a gift. Instead of a blacklist meant to shame and intimidate us, we now have a gallery of patriots whose courage we can wear as badges of honor, and a rogue list of Tsinadors who deserve our eternal condemnation.