It’s a chilling, yet undeniable truth: what goes around, often comes around. This isn’t about some mystical force of “karma” in the sense of divine punishment, but rather the natural unfolding of consequences over time. It’s about how the words we utter and the actions we take, especially when we wield power, create ripples that eventually return to our own shores. Think of it like a boomerang – you throw it out, and inevitably, it flies back. Those at the top of the world today, basking in their perceived invincibility, might find themselves humbled tomorrow. And conversely, those who were once silenced, pushed aside, or openly ridiculed, may eventually find their voice and their moment. This is the essence of the Filipino saying, “bilog ang mundo” – the world is round.
The insults, the humiliations, the violence we inflict upon others don’t just vanish into thin air. They linger, sometimes in the memories of those hurt, sometimes in the fabric of society itself, waiting for the opportune moment to resurface. The insightful poet Kahlil Gibran beautifully captured this in “The Prophet,” comparing it to children building sandcastles by the sea. They meticulously construct their grand towers, proud and imposing for a brief moment, only for the relentless ocean to wash them away. The ocean remains, ceaseless and rhythmic, long after the ephemeral sandcastles crumble. This isn’t merely a commentary on hypocrisy, but a profound reflection on impermanence. Power, unfortunately, often blinds people, making them believe their influence is eternal, their voices unshakable, their names beyond question. But history, with its relentless tides, has a consistent way of disproving such delusions. It’s a harsh lesson, learned repeatedly throughout human civilization, that no one is truly above the natural laws of consequence.
We’ve seen this play out dramatically in recent history. Take former president Rodrigo Duterte, for instance. At the height of his power, he seemed to mock anyone who dared to displease him – from divine figures he deemed “stupid” to revered religious leaders he cursed, from international legal bodies he threatened to slap to political adversaries he openly menaced with death. Many around him, perhaps out of fear or blind loyalty, laughed along, convinced that his power was unyielding, a permanent fixture in the political landscape. His allies often echoed his tone, adopting a similar belligerent swagger. Harry Roque, for example, chillingly told Senator Leila de Lima, “May you rot in jail.” And Franco Mabanta, a social media strategist, publicly revelled in the idea of parading a vlogger, Jover Laurio, in handcuffs through the streets, suggesting she deserved “shame, shame, shame.” For many within their orbit, ridicule became a twisted form of political theater, amplified by fervent supporters and spread like wildfire across social media platforms, creating a culture where cruelty was often rewarded.
But, as history consistently reminds us, power is a fleeting thing. It rarely lasts forever, and the tides of public life can turn with astonishing speed. Today, the once-unflappable Duterte faces detention in Scheveningen prison in The Hague. During his initial appearance before the International Criminal Court, his notorious swagger was conspicuously absent, replaced by a trembling voice as he was asked to identify himself. Harry Roque, once so confident in his public pronouncements, is now a fugitive in Europe, facing accusations of qualified human trafficking that could lead to life imprisonment if convicted. And Franco Mabanta, who envisioned someone else being led away in handcuffs, was himself arrested by the National Bureau of Investigation for extortion and escorted to jail, his own wrists bound. The irony is stark, almost poetic.
It’s crucial to understand that these developments are not moments for celebration, nor should misfortune, even when seemingly deserved, become a public spectacle for gloating. The essence here isn’t about revenge, but rather, about humility and the cyclical nature of consequences. People in positions of power often speak and act as if their influence is an unbreakable force, as if they are immune to accountability, as if they will never experience the very vulnerability they so readily dismissed in others. They forget that the wheel of fortune, or rather, the wheel of public life, is constantly turning. Sooner or later, often unexpectedly, they are forced to confront the direct consequences of the world they actively helped to shape – the narratives they promoted, the divisions they inflamed, the cruelty they condoned, and the disrespect they dished out.
Gibran, in his wisdom, concluded his observation about the sand towers with a profound insight: “But while you build your sand-towers the ocean brings more sand to the shore, And when you destroy them the ocean laughs with you. Verily the ocean laughs always with the innocent.” The ocean, in this metaphor, doesn’t harbor hatred for the sand tower. It simply endures it. It is an enduring, constant force that outlasts all temporary structures, all fleeting displays of power. It represents the quiet, relentless flow of time and consequence, a force that eventually, inevitably, brings everything back to its natural state. The message is clear: no matter how grand or imposing one’s “sand tower” of power may seem, it is ultimately temporary, and the larger currents of existence will always prevail.