THERE are moments when the nation expects its lawmakers to rise to the occasion.
Unfortunately, this was not one of them.
The recent filibustering by a House representative would have been amusing if it were not so painfully embarrassing. And what timing — just as the country opens Women’s Month, the Halls of Congress echo not with dignity or thoughtful debate, but with the kind of juvenile bravado that belongs in a locker room, not a legislature.
One expects more from elected officials. At the very least, one hopes for the basic qualifications of seriousness and intellect.
Yet watching that spectacle, it became difficult to single out even one voice in that room willing to say, “Gentlemen, this is beneath us.”
Instead, there was laughter.
Smirks.
The familiar chorus of macho approval that seems to pass for camaraderie among men who believe that mockery is masculinity.
Allow me to offer a small correction.
Sweetheart, saying those things does not make you more of a man.
It simply makes you less.
Real strength has never needed an audience.
Real confidence does not depend on humiliating others.
And real leadership certainly does not sound like a barroom punchline delivered under the national seal.
What is even more disappointing is the silence of those who should know better.
Some of you sit there in impeccable Barong or perfectly tailored suits — symbols of respectability, authority, and public trust. Yet behind those fabrics lies a kind of quiet surrender.
A voice unused is still a statement.
Silence — or simply abstaining — is also a vote.
And let us be honest about something that everyone in that chamber already knows but politely pretends not to notice.
There are men in that room who understand discrimination better than most. Men who know what it feels like to grow up being told that who they are must be softened, disguised, or hidden to be acceptable.
Imagine the power of that perspective.
Imagine what it would mean for this country if even a few of them chose honesty over performance — if they stopped laughing along with the same tired macho script and instead stood up for those who are still pushed to the margins.
They could do so much for the LGBTQ+ community.
Not with grand speeches.
Not with dramatic declarations.
Sometimes leadership begins with something much simpler: refusing to join the joke.
Because authenticity is a kind of courage. And sometimes the bravest thing a man can do in a room full of performers is to stop pretending.
So laugh if you must.
Turn the halls of Congress into a comedy bar if you must.
Deliver your lines.
Trade your jokes.
Enjoy the applause from colleagues who find the same tired humor endlessly entertaining.
But outside those doors are millions of women who are no longer amused.
Women who vote.
Women who work.
Women who lead companies, raise families, run institutions, and carry communities on their backs while men in government debate whether respect is optional.
A Barong is meant to signify dignity.
And here is the inconvenient truth.
Enjoy the applause of men who think cruelty is humor and machismo a personality trait.
But outside that chamber are citizens who remember — and a country growing increasingly impatient with men who confuse power with performance.
Because when the history of this moment is written, the punchline will not be the women who demanded respect.
It will be the men who turned the House into a comedy bar and called it leadership.
Still brewing thoughts — no sugarcoating. Just stories steeped in truth.
