
Singapore GE2025: Banners, banter and ballots – a tale of four constituencies
SINGAPORE: The people of East Coast GRC are used to choice.
Daily, they have their pick of the 'big three' hawker centres in Bedok – at blocks 16, 58 and 216 – and soignee Joo Chiat cafes, newly drawn into the GRC. Nightly, cocktails at modish bar Santai or supper in the noirish light of Simpang Bedok.
So, too, politically. Since 2006, the eastern idyll has flirted with the opposition in a near quarter-century game of 'will they, won't they' – always returning a credible result, but no prize, for the WP.
Leaning against a BMW coupe in Siglap, a resident considers his options: White or blue, 'it's a win-win for us'.
The project manager in his 40s, who gives his name as Lim, is undecided on his vote. His dilemma is personal.
A Joo Chiat resident, he is part of the 40,675 electors hived off from the old Marine Parade GRC, familiar with the rival leaders of the PAP and WP teams.
'For Edwin Tong, he's done a lot. The cleanliness of the roads, the infrastructure, the new Siglap Community Club,' says Lim. 'But I also like Yee Jenn Jong. He's humble, present. I always see him.'
Culture, Community and Youth Minister Edwin Tong (second from right) with (from left) PAP's East Coast GRC candidate Hazlina Abdul Halim and retired PAP MP Cheryl Chan greeting residents during a walkabout at 85 Fengshan Centre on April 25. - ST
The Culture, Community and Youth Minister, Tong, has for a decade been the MP for the comfortable suburb, while the WP man has run in Joo Chiat since 2011. Yee lost by a hair of 388 votes that year, when it was a single seat.
And he 'never left' the turf, says Lim.
It is ground the two brand name parties seem to think sweet.
The WP withdrew from the recast Marine Parade GRC once the ward was split from it. The PAP is likely hoping it will tip East Coast a touch whiter after its bruising narrow win in 2020.
The tree-lined streets of Telok Kurau give little away.
Here on a Saturday in mid-April, pampered pooches – some in strollers – have compelled their owners into a community pet walk.
The 'guest of honour' is Tong, whom a spiffy-looking resident calls 'Edwin' as he goes in for a handshake. The minister is in jeans and breezy short sleeves, relaxed attire that puts him right at home with his friendly constituents.
Then, four attendees interviewed confess indecision.
Voters in the silk-stockinged enclave say Yee, who came out of retirement to run, is a strong contender, but lifelong Simei resident Sea, 27, says WP has fielded its second string.
Go farther east, it seems, and the talk gets louder, positions firmer.
At the smoking corner of a Bedok coffee shop, two men, both around 60, have flipped their colours. One, a retired sales and marketing man, will vote PAP, sensing a drift into two-party politics.
'I have never voted for them, but I'm very worried they will lose the two-thirds,' he says, referring to the parliamentary supermajority that gives a ruling government the ability to amend the Constitution.
'The world is in a very challenging time and I realised the opposition is being very populist.' Besides, he says, Tong brought in Coldplay.
The other, forced into entrepreneurship after losing his job, will go blue for the first time. 'When Lee Kuan Yew was in power, I would vote PAP any time,' he says.
In usually mealy-mouthed Singapore, East Coast residents seem to need no prodding to talk politics.
At a pub in Simpang Bedok – where the waitress still calls you 'sayang' – an 80-year-old retired businessman lets forth in Hokkien on the ills of the group representation constituency system.
One week from Polling Day, at the Block 58 marketplace, the WP team is on an early morning walkabout. In under five minutes, four people approach Mr Yee to pump his hand and wish him luck. He dips his head to listen to them, revealing a sparse combover.
His younger associate, Jasper Kuan, talks policy with two attentive middle-aged women. They bow and thank each other after – 'for listening', 'for trying'.
Still, there are quieter declarations. At the wet market, a cosmetics store displays a small PAP flag.
End to end, the temperament of each neighbourhood differs, first subtly, then starkly. In Simei, residents keep to themselves and the coffee shops have no need for banners, ubiquitous in Bedok, exhorting diners to keep it down.
But as any 'Eastie' worth his salt, like Simei native and musician Lim, will tell you: 'I'm a bit irritated that it's the PAP slogan, but east side really best side.'
While East Coast voters thrive on the thrill of contest and the luxury of political choice, just a short distance away in Marine Parade, the mood could not be more different.
On a Saturday morning in the middle of April, residents file into Marine Terrace Market, trailed by the brassy chords of a busker's harmonica. Above the ambient chatter, hawkers dish out bowls of lontong and plates of chee cheong fun.
The morning's tranquillity is punctuated by the giddy roar of the nearby town carnival. Manpower Minister Tan See Leng, who many assumed before Nomination Day would lead the Marine Parade-Braddell Heights GRC team at the 2025 polls, ascends the stage to launch a new five-year masterplan for the town.
Dr Tan is no stranger here. In recent weeks, he seems to have redoubled efforts in the neighbourhood, going door to door to meet constituents every other day.
The message is clear: He is gearing up for a showdown. For weeks now, there have been signs.
Hawkers in Marine Terrace report an uptick in politician sightings. In MacPherson, the WP's new face, Harpreet Singh, was spotted walking the ground in March.
The sleepy district has stood staunchly behind the PAP's Tin Pei Ling since 2015, with 71.74 per cent of voters casting their ballots for her in the 2020 General Election. Still, a sense of restlessness hums in the air. In an ageing estate buffeted by rising prices, residents are hungry for change.
Down south, resident Christopher Lim, 34, is looking forward to a fight.
'Of course, as voters, we love a little bit of excitement, especially if it's in our backyard,' he says.
Then April 23 arrives. The PAP team turns up at the nomination centre at Kong Hwa School, but Dr Tan is missing from their ranks. And the WP is a no-show.
Retired freelance consultant Jane Goh, 63, is on a ferry back from Batam when she hears about the walkover. To her, it feels like a slap. 'It's the last-minute nature of the switch that shocks us.'
Lim feels Dr Tan should have stuck around longer to build a stronger rapport with residents.
'I think it's important to understand that our trust in the PAP MPs is derived from a longstanding political legacy that is rooted in consistent performance,' he says.
Some residents confront the WP's East Coast team during their walkabouts in the neighbouring ward. Others vent their frustrations online, with one comment reading: 'Don't nd to bother come back here. I will not vote for u (sic).'
'It's no good,' mutters 70-year-old retiree Ray Chang, shaking his head. 'No contest is like eating rice without fish.'
Food delivery man Noor Hidayat, 49, says he will be spending the weekend of May 3 in Kuala Lumpur and Melaka. 'Don't need to vote, that means can go on holiday already lah!'
By the end of Nomination Day, the rest of Singapore is draped in the relevant paraphernalia. In Still Road, a banner of the WP's East Coast GRC team has unfurled.
But on the other side of the border, the lamp posts remain bare.
As Marine Parade's political drama fades into anti-climax, the pulse of the election beats on in the heartland of the west.
Just before 8am on a Saturday morning, a small crowd is gathered at Teban Gardens Food Centre, waiting to celebrate the birthday of an 85-year-old man.
Sandwiched between Pandan Reservoir and the Ayer Rajah Expressway in Singapore's west coast, the estate feels a little off the beaten track – the nearest MRT station is a good 20-minute bus ride away in Jurong East.
Over at AJ Cooked Food Stall in the food centre, Choa Sian Choon, 58, watches the morning's unusual bustle with quiet curiosity.
'I've been working here six months, but I've never seen them before,' says the cook, nodding at the group of about 20 people clad in bright red PSP polo shirts.
'The other ones, I see them around once a week. They're familiar faces,' he says, referring to the PAP volunteers who make regular rounds.
When the stall's owner mentions that a birthday celebration is about to kick off, Choa perks up.
Teban Gardens is in the heart of Ayer Rajah, a constituency that Dr Tan Cheng Bock, now celebrating his 85th birthday, represented in Parliament for 26 years until 2006, when it was absorbed into West Coast GRC.
During the last general election, he led a team which contested West Coast and lost narrowly to the incumbent PAP team in the election's tightest race.
Five years later, he is back. But with constituency lines redrawn to rope in Jurong Spring and Taman Jurong, a new question hangs in the air: Will the 158,836 voters of the new West Coast-Jurong West GRC still remember the good doctor?
This Saturday morning, some clearly do.
One resident, Alfred Hong, has brought two pictures from the previous campaign for Dr Tan to sign. The 59-year-old has been living in the area for over two decades, and loves how quiet Teban Gardens is.
But what some call serenity, others see as isolation.
For a 46-year-old administrative assistant who prefers to be known only as Siti, construction works and a lack of easy access have made daily life harder, especially when taking her wheelchair-bound mother out. Getting to shopping malls in Clementi or Jurong can be inconvenient without a car, she says.
'Maybe it'll be better when the Jurong Region Line opens, but that's so long away.'
She remembers Dr Tan as her MP when she was growing up.
'It's nice that he's coming back here again after losing, unlike some others who keep jumping around. But I worry for him because he's already so old,' she says.
Just a 15-minute drive from Teban Gardens is Boon Lay Place Market, home to the legendary Boon Lay Power Nasi Lemak, where snaking queues of hungry students and blue-collar workers line up daily for their spicy fix.
Nestled near the bustling Jurong industrial estate, Boon Lay is a blend of old and new – ageing HDB blocks sitting comfortably alongside newer housing projects that have sprung up in recent years.
Long-time residents remember when the older three-room flats got a major spruce-up nearly two decades ago, with utility rooms added to the back of their kitchens, giving these homes a second lease of life.
For people like 68-year-old homemaker Sally Ng, Boon Lay has everything she needs right at her doorstep.
'Just downstairs, I have a wet market, a supermarket for everything I need,' she says in Mandarin.
'If I want to meet my friends, the residents' network is just below. Everyone knows everyone here.'
She is confident that her incumbent MP, who leads the PAP team in West Coast GRC – National Development Minister Desmond Lee – will cruise to victory on Polling Day.
To her, the sheer turnout at every Meet-the-People Session says it all – residents trust him to get things done.
'The PAP takes such good care of us here, we're very content,' she says matter-of-factly. 'What has the other side offered, really – other than a lot of talk?'
But while Ng takes comfort in the familiar rhythms of the neighbourhood and the steady hand of her incumbent MP, a very different political energy is gathering momentum across the island in Punggol.
Ask around, and you will find more voters swaying than casuarina trees in a monsoon storm in this GRC. Just a week ago, the air here was subdued, with both the PAP and WP keeping their strategies close to their chest.
But on April 26, as a sweltering Saturday morning gives way to a sudden downpour, the mood shifts dramatically. The surprise entry of Deputy Prime Minister Gan Kim Yong and the WP's Harpreet Singh are the talk of the town, sparking animated conversations in markets and coffee shops.
For one educator who declined to give her name, the decision at the ballot is anything but straightforward. Having moved from Choa Chu Kang – where DPM Gan was once her MP – to Punggol four years ago, the 32-year-old now finds herself torn between 'a party with a proven track record and a party that offers hope'.
'I'm a Star Wars fan, so I always feel like you need hope to keep you going,' she says.
Polling Day may be around the corner but the mother of two – grimacing as she draws her children closer – admits her vote is 'still up in the air'.
Later, on their way to the library, her five-year-old daughter spots the WP's Alia Mattar at One Punggol Hawker Centre, recognising her from the banners in the neighbourhood. She tells her mother she wants a photo with Alia.
For Punggol voter Jeffrey Tan, 71, the sudden entry of DPM Gan in the race feels like deja vu. The part-time business consultant had spent 25 years in Aljunied GRC and still remembers the emotional roller coaster of 2011, when the Workers' Party clinched victory and Foreign Minister George Yeo lost his seat.
'When George Yeo lost, I cried. It was a waste because he's a fantastic guy. This could be a repeated tragedy,' he says.
But don't mistake his sentimentality for certainty. The surprise entries of senior counsel Harpreet Singh and DPM Gan have left him weighing his options anew.
With a wry grin, Tan sums up the mood of many in Punggol: 'You give the voters a headache, you know?'
This morning, he spends a long time chatting with Harpreet and fellow WP candidate Jackson Au, praising the WP for doing a 'good job with recruitment'.
Yet he also acknowledges that incumbent PAP MP Sun Xueling remains popular, and newcomer Yeo Wan Ling, despite being a first-term MP, has left an impression with her 'bubbly' energy.
Tan predicts a razor-thin race in Punggol GRC, with a recount dragging past midnight, possibly making it the last result to be called.
When asked about the odds, a 32-year-old media professional – who declined to give his name – shrugs and says: 'Flip a coin.'
Another unspoken question lingers: Could there be a spillover effect from the WP's surprise victory in Sengkang in 2020?
In fact, several young residents from the adjacent Sengkang GRC have come to the One Punggol community hub, eager for a personal moment with the WP team on a walkabout.
Among them is a 24-year-old first-time voter queueing for a bowl of the famous Botak Cantonese Porridge while clutching a copy of Journey In Blue (2020) by the WP's East Coast GRC candidate Yee Jenn Jong which he hopes to get signed.
Will the WP's 'eastern strategy' push its momentum all the way up to the north-eastern tip, reaching even Coney Island? Or will the PAP's campaign in Punggol get a decisive lift from DPM Gan, Singapore's 'Task Force Man', at a time of growing global tariff wars?
On the ground, residents say the same thing again and again: Municipal issues matter, but so do national ones.
Thrust into one of the fiercest political spotlights of this election, they are only too aware of the weight their decision carries. More than ever, their vote feels sacred. And they are taking it seriously. - The Straits Times/ANN

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The Sun
18 hours ago
- The Sun
Apec finance ministers to unveil new roadmap to replace Cebu Action Plan in October
KUALA LUMPUR: Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (Apec) finance ministers will launch a new roadmap to replace the Cebu Action Plan this October. Deputy Finance Minister Lim Hui Ying said the new roadmap will define the priorities of the Apec Finance Ministers' Process (FMP) over the next five years. 'It will identify the FMP's medium-term initiatives and deliverables towards the achievement of Apec's Putrajaya Vision 2040 of an open, dynamic, resilient and peaceful Asia-Pacific community,' she said in her keynote speech at Abac-Asean BAC APFF 2025 Southeast Asia Conference: Financing Asean's Development Priorities today. She emphasised the need for Asean members to actively participate in Apec discussions and decisions, especially as the forum prepares its new roadmap. 'It is critical for Asean members to work together within Apec to ensure that our common priorities in Southeast Asia are well-embedded in this new Asia-Pacific roadmap and that initiatives in Asean and Apec are consistent with each other and mutually supportive,' she said. Lim said new business models and technology carry risks that are still not yet fully understood today. 'Enabling their safe and effective deployment would also require legal, policy and regulatory reforms, changes in industry practices and collaborative efforts to educate consumers, industry practitioners and regulators.' Responding to these challenges and opportunities, she said, will require stronger regional financial cooperation. 'At the same time, it will also require closer collaboration between the public and private sectors.' In this context, Lim said, the Apec and Asean processes have a critical role to play in providing platforms for action among members and for enhanced government and regulatory engagement with the private sector. She said new business models and rapid advances in technology can help in redesigning finance to better serve micro- small and medium enterprises and marginalised consumers. 'These include digital technologies like blockchain, AI and quantum computing. They include new products such as crypto and tokenised assets and digital currencies.' Meanwhile, Asean-BAC Malaysia chairman Tan Sri Nazir Razak said Asean has long talked about deeper economic integration but progress has been slow or repeatedly delayed. 'Echoing Singapore Prime Minister Lawrence Wong's remark that the bloc faces its moment of truth, it must step up or risk losing relevance. Unfortunately, we have heard similar words before. I hope this time we really move ahead with integrating our economies,' he said. Nazir noted that execution has been lacking not only from governments, but also from the private sector. 'The private sector has also fallen short. Are we doing the deals we should be doing – in partnerships, mergers and acquisitions, supply chains and trade? I don't think so.' He highlighted that intra-Asean trade and investments remain low as a percentage of total trade and investments. 'The surge in regional Asean companies of the late 2000s has slowed. Are we fulfilling our potential in attracting investors to Asean?' Nazir said the bloc is not trying to model itself after the European Union, noting that Asean functions best through small, concrete steps, not grand, unachievable sound bites. 'The good news is that we now have a much clearer understanding of what Asean can and should realistically achieve.'


The Star
a day ago
- The Star
The rise and fall of Joseph Estrada: From people's champion to disgraced Philippine president
MANILA: Joseph Ejercito Estrada's journey to the presidency began with fanfare, but it would end in ignominy, toppled not by a coup but by the very institutions he once promised to uphold. He was swept into office in 1998 as the people's champion, a former movie star whose promise of 'Erap para sa Mahirap' lit up the hopes of millions who had long been shut out of power. But in less than three years, the same man would stand trial for betrayal. The presidency that began in triumph unraveled in a storm of scandal: damning exposés, a bombshell whistleblower, and a seven-minute congressional move that shattered his mandate. Yet it was the Senate's refusal to open one sealed envelope — the so-called 'second envelope'— that lit the spark. What followed was fury: a walkout, a nation erupting in protest, and a second EDSA uprising that would end his rule not with a verdict in court, but with a people's judgment in the streets. The making of a president, and the beginning of his undoing On June 30, 1998, in the historic Barasoain Church in Malolos, Bulacan, a beloved film actor took his oath of office as the 13th president of the Republic of the Philippines. As mandated by the Constitution, the ceremony was held at exactly at noon, but the symbolism of the venue made it more than a formality. It was the first time in the post-war era that a Philippine president was inaugurated outside Manila, and the choice of Barasoain, a cradle of the First Philippine Republic, was a calculated tribute to nationalist pride and populist appeal. The formal inaugural rites, however, unfolded shortly after at the Quirino Grandstand in Manila, where tens of thousands gathered under the sweltering sun to witness Joseph 'Erap' Ejercito Estrada deliver his first address as president. For his supporters, it was the moment their 'Erap para sa Mahirap' had arrived. Estrada, who had risen from the mayoralty of San Juan to the Senate, then to the vice presidency under Fidel V. Ramos, had just won the presidency by a landslide, securing over 10.7 million votes—the largest margin in a presidential race at the time. His opponent, Speaker Jose de Venecia Jr, stood little chance against Erap's massive popularity, forged by his decades-long film career playing roles that endeared him to the masses: the underdog, the tough-but-kind brawler, the voice of the poor. His nickname, 'Erap,' was more than a moniker; it was a brand. It came from the Filipino word 'pare' (meaning buddy), spelled backward. The name, given to him by fellow actor Fernando Poe Jr, stuck, and eventually became synonymous with the image of a down-to-earth everyman who could talk, drink, and laugh like one of the boys. It was this image that Estrada carried into the presidency. Estrada's campaign vehicle, fittingly branded JEEP—Justice, Economy, Environment, and Peace — carried not just a slogan but a promise of inclusive leadership. He would bring the presidency closer to the people. That, at least, was the vision. In his inaugural speech, he sounded the alarm on corruption and favouritism, vowing not to tolerate abuse under his watch: 'I'm warning them. No friends, no godfathers, no relatives, or children will be allowed to take advantage. And as early as now, I'm telling you, you're just wasting your time. Don't test me." He ended with a rousing call to collective effort and Filipino solidarity: 'Let us remember, my beloved countrymen: no one will help Filipinos but fellow Filipinos." For the millions who celebrated his ascent, it was a moment filled with pride, hope, and vindication. Their 'Erap' had triumphed. Not the elite's candidate, but one of their own. But history would not grant him the six years he was elected to serve. In less than three years, the same populist presidency that started with fanfare would unravel under the weight of corruption allegations, mass resignations, and a dramatic impeachment trial watched live by a nation on edge. But before the collapse came the cracks. Behind Malacanang's gates, stories of midnight drinking sessions, poker nights with cronies, and a revolving door of political favor-seekers began to seep into public consciousness. Estrada's critics—once scattered voices—grew louder, alleging that the president was treating the highest office of the land like a backroom bar in one of his old movies. And then came the reports. First in whispers. Then in headlines. Then, in numbers: property titles, unexplained wealth, and shell corporations, published by investigative journalists who traced the shadows of power back to the palace itself. The honeymoon was over. When the cracks began to show At first, the stories were whispered, shared in passing by aides, and repeated with unease by insiders. Meetings were missed. Memos went unread. Decisions, they said, were made not in the Palace boardroom but over dinner, drinks, and dice. By 2000, the image of Joseph Estrada as the people's president—the tough, lovable rogue from the movies—was beginning to fray. His administration, once buoyed by an overwhelming electoral mandate, started showing signs of fatigue, disorder, and excess. The charm was still there, but so were the consequences. Then came the first blow. In July that year, on the very day Estrada was set to deliver his second State of the Nation Address, the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism (PCIJ) released a damning expose. Titled 'The state of the President's finances: Can Estrada explain his wealth?', the report detailed how Estrada, his wife, and several of his acknowledged partners were tied to 66 companies, many of which were not declared in his official asset statements. These businesses, several formed during his years in public office, had a combined authorised capital of P893 million—a far cry from the P35.8 million net worth and P2.3 million annual income Estrada reported in 1999. The report raised difficult questions. How had a sitting president built such vast interests in real estate, entertainment, and food ventures? Why were high-value properties, like a P40-million mansion in Wack-Wack linked to his partners, registered under a known presidential crony—appearing in land records but missing from his official asset disclosures? Malacanang stayed silent. The lawyers promised answers that never came. Outside, the public began to talk louder. Five months later, the curtain lifted further. In December, The Washington Post published a vivid portrait of life inside Malacanang—one that read more like a script from one of Estrada's old movies. There, in the president's private salon, after the day's official duties had ended, the 'midnight cabinet' would begin. Political allies, businessmen, and old drinking buddies gathered well into the early morning. They played mah-jong with stakes reaching US$500,000, roughly P22.5 million at the time, and drank $1,000 bottles of Chateau Petrus. Between rounds, they spoke of promotions, contracts, and policies. What was said at night often became law by morning. 'It was out of control,' one former official recalled. 'He'd make the deals, and we'd be left to clean up.' Estrada, meanwhile, kept performing for the crowd. He still visited the provinces. He still ate with his hands before flashing cameras. He still handed out bills from his wallet to the poor. And for millions of Filipinos, especially in the countryside, it still worked. They saw in him not a president under siege, but a leader being hunted by the rich and powerful. 'They see genuineness and openness in him,' then-Finance Secretary Jose Pardo said in a 2000 interview. 'There's a cult of personality. He can do no wrong in their eyes.' Estrada leaned into the narrative. 'This is not just a battle between the rich and Erap,' he told supporters. 'This is a war between the rich and the poor, the poor whom I want to serve.' But by then, the spectacle had begun to turn. The cheers were quieter. The headlines are louder. The mood is heavier. What started as rumblings inside the Palace had grown into a full-blown national crisis—one being watched by an anxious public, uncertain but alert. And just beyond the spotlight, someone from within Estrada's own circle, someone he had once called a friend, was preparing to speak. The tipping point: Chavit's bombshell, a nation on edge By October 2000, the rumours swirling around the Palace had already reached a fever pitch. For months, the public had heard whispers of lavish lifestyles, late-night gambling sessions, and hidden wealth. Then, in one stunning move, Ilocos Sur Governor Luis 'Chavit' Singson stepped out of the shadows and dropped the hammer. At a nationally televised press conference on October 4, Singson, once a trusted friend of the President, accused Estrada of personally pocketing P400 million in jueteng protection money, funneled over nearly two years. The jueteng, an illegal numbers game deeply embedded in Philippine culture, had long been a source of under-the-table earnings for local operators and officials. But never before had a sitting president been named at the top of the chain. 'I personally handed to President Estrada P10 million every month,' Singson said in a written statement. The payments, he claimed, were made regularly between November 1998 and August 2000—right in the heart of Estrada's presidency. Then came the second punch. Singson said Estrada had also demanded a cut from his province's tobacco excise tax funds legally allocated to tobacco-producing regions under Republic Act No. 7171. The law was supposed to help farmers through infrastructure and livelihood programs. But Singson alleged that P130 million of Ilocos Sur's share had been diverted after Estrada made it a precondition for the release of the funds. 'I agreed to both, the role of collecting jueteng money and the precondition to the release of the funds, because I was desperate to make good our campaign promise to our people,' he said, adding that he initially trusted Estrada's vow to uplift the countryside. The revelations sent political shockwaves across the country. In the days that followed, the moral and political pressure intensified. Reports noted that Manila Archbishop Cardinal Jaime Sin, the most respected Catholic leader in the country, called for Estrada to step down 'for the good of the country,' confirming the gravity of the crisis. Sin went further, emphasising that Estrada had 'lost the moral ascendancy to govern.' The Diocese's announcement marked the first time since Estrada took office in 1998 that the Cardinal had publicly demanded his resignation. Estrada protested, saying he was being judged before due process had begun—an argument that resonated with some, but by then, much of the public had already made up its mind. On Oct 11, the opposition formally acted. House Minority Leader Sonny Belmonte filed the Articles of Impeachment, stating: 'It is my duty to inform the nation that we, in representation of the minority and the Filipino people, all the Filipino people, are set and hereby file a complaint for impeachment against the President of the Philippines.' Backing their charges with Singson's sworn testimony, 115 lawmakers signed on, well above the constitutional one-third threshold needed to move the case directly to the Senate. Despite nearly 28 months in office and mounting accusations, Estrada rejected the charges and cast himself as a misunderstood underdog—a lone warrior fighting against powerful enemies. 'This is just like the movies,' he reportedly said. 'In the movies, especially my movies, the good guy always gets beaten up and defeated, but he does not give up. He fights to the end and eventually wins.' Seven minutes that shattered the presidency On Nov 13, 2000, the House of Representatives convened for what looked like a routine session, but inside, the air hummed with tension. Speaker Manny Villar, who had distanced himself from Estrada's ruling coalition just days earlier, took a decisive step that would change the course of Philippine history. Awash in partisan murmurs and heated glances, he rose and announced that the impeachment complaint had already secured the 115 endorsements needed—enough to surpass the one-third requirement. Without calling for debate or a floor vote, he read the order instructing the Secretary General to immediately transmit the complaint to the Senate. The charges were sweeping: bribery, graft and corruption, betrayal of public trust, and culpable violation of the Constitution. Though the House had been abuzz with scandal for weeks, few expected the motion's formal transmission to move this quickly, let alone without warning. That declaration was swift, a mere seven minutes from opening prayer to gavel strike, but it cracked the very foundation of Estrada's presidency. News reports from that day describe an explosive reaction: the chamber erupted into chaos as pro-Estrada lawmakers banged tables, shouted accusations of foul play, and called the move 'railroading'. According to a report by The Taipei Times, allies of the President howled that the usual procedures, such as roll call and quorum checks, had been skipped. But Villar, impassive, struck the gavel and ended the session before objections could take hold. In the gallery above, the response was explosive. Civil society groups and ordinary citizens who had packed the session hall rose to their feet, chanting 'Erap resign!' and singing Bayan Ko. On the floor, opposition lawmakers embraced one another. Many rushed to Villar, visibly emotional, grateful that the constitutional process had not only held but prevailed. Estrada's allies later questioned the legality of the move. Yet the Constitution left little room for interpretation: once an impeachment complaint garners at least one-third of House signatures, it is deemed automatically transmitted. No floor vote, no further debate required. And so, history was made. Joseph Ejercito Estrada became the first sitting president of the Philippines to be impeached. In a region more accustomed to coups and uprisings than rule-of-law transitions, the Philippines sent a different message: democracy, however fragile, was working. And the entire country was watching—on live television, in jeepney radios, through office whispers and market murmurs. It wasn't just law; it was theater, revolution, reckoning—all unfolding in real time. The impeachment trial begins On Dec 7, 2000, history unfolded inside the Senate of the Philippines. For the first time since the country's return to democracy in 1986, a sitting president stood trial under the full force of the Constitution. Chief Justice Hilario G. Davide Jr presided over the proceedings. In front of him, 21 senators raised their right hands and took an oath as judges. The charges were serious: bribery, graft and corruption, betrayal of public trust, and culpable violation of the Constitution. Estrada would be removed from office if 15 senators, two-thirds of the full Senate, voted to convict. Each day began with prayer and oath, but there was little calm in the chamber. TV cameras rolled continuously, and every legal maneuver was broadcast into homes and public markets across the country. For millions of Filipinos, it was not just politics—it was personal. Witnesses testified, documents were examined, and tensions mounted. Then, just before Christmas, the prosecution dropped a bombshell. 'I was just a foot away from President Estrada when he signed the name 'Jose Velarde,'' testified Clarissa Ocampo, senior vice president of Equitable PCI Bank. She said she personally brought the documents to Malacañang on Feb 4, 1999, and watched in disbelief as Estrada affixed the alias to a P500 million investment agreement. Her testimony directly linked Estrada to a bank account long suspected of being used to conceal undeclared wealth. It was a turning point in the trial, raising the stakes and setting the stage for the controversy that would erupt with the so-called second envelope. The envelope that broke the presidency The nation was on edge. The trial had gripped the public imagination, with every hearing dissected on street corners, in classrooms, and newsrooms. As the proceedings dragged into January 2001, anticipation was no longer simmering—it was crackling. All eyes were now on the Senate, waiting for the next move in a drama that had ceased to be just political and had become deeply personal to millions of Filipinos. The Senate chamber was tense, but still. On January 16, 2001, all 21 senators sat poised like jurors. Civil society leaders, media, and concerned citizens packed the gallery, the air taut with expectation. Davide presided from the rostrum. Before him lay the now-infamous second envelope—sealed, unexamined, but politically radioactive. It was said to contain bank documents linking President Joseph Estrada to the alias Jose Velarde — a name that had surfaced repeatedly in testimony alleging money laundering and hidden wealth. Prosecutors from the House of Representatives had fought to unseal the envelope, arguing it held bank records proving Estrada amassed $63.5 million in undeclared income from bribes and kickbacks since taking office in 1998. To the prosecution and much of the public, this envelope wasn't just another document. It was the linchpin. Without it, the most damning financial trail would remain sealed—and justice, they feared, denied. When it came time to vote on whether to open the envelope, Senate President Aquilino 'Nene' Pimentel Jr was the first to break the silence after casting his vote: 'I vote to open the second envelope. I vote to do so because that is the only way to determine whether or not the contents… are relevant or material to the case. Because of this development, Mr Chief Justice, I realise that the no's have it and therefore I resign my presidency of the Senate as soon as my successor is elected.' He resigned even before the formal tally, sending shockwaves through the chamber. 'Para sa mga kabataan na susunod sa atin,' Pimentel would later tell reporters: 'For the youth who will follow us.' Then came the count. Eleven senators voted not to open the envelope: Tessie Aquino-Oreta Nikki Coseteng Miriam Defensor Santiago Juan Ponce Enrile Gringo Honasan Robert Jaworski Blas Ople John Henry Osmeña Ramon Revilla Sr. Tito Sotto Francisco Tatad Only 10 voted to open it, one short of the simple majority needed. The reaction inside the Senate was immediate and emotional. According to a Washington Post report, anti-Estrada senators were seen weeping, while chants of 'Conscience! Conscience!' erupted from the public gallery. The vote, many believed, all but signaled Estrada's acquittal. In protest, the House prosecution panel walked out—a rare and dramatic act in Philippine political history. They left the Senate chambers in silence, condemning what they saw as the stonewalling of truth. Only after the walkout did Senator Franklin Drilon approach the Senate President. He embraced Pimentel firmly. Behind him followed Belmonte, Rep. Joker Arroyo, and other key prosecutors. Later, in a separate press briefing, Pimentel said: 'I think the people who are supporting President Estrada have caused damage that cannot be repaired to this institution that I love as a senator, and therefore, I cannot continue leading such a damaged institution.' 'I do this so that our people, especially the younger ones coming after us, will have some hope that there are still public officials who are willing to stand by what is right and good, what is moral and just, for the good of all,' he added. Senator Loren Legarda, who had voted to open the envelope, was seen wiping away tears. Across the chamber, others clapped, not in celebration, but in quiet recognition of conscience. In contrast, Oreta was caught on live television laughing, dancing, and taunting the crowd in the Senate gallery after being jeered alongside fellow pro-Estrada senators. The moment went viral. For many watching, it felt like mockery. The trial breaks, the people rise That same night, the House prosecution panel made a stunning announcement. In a hastily called press conference, they declared their collective resignation from the impeachment trial. They would no longer appear before the Senate. They would no longer present witnesses. 'In other words,' one panel member said, 'the impeachment trial will proceed without prosecutors, both public and private.' It was more than just a legal withdrawal—it was a moral protest. A clear signal that the panel no longer believed the process could yield justice. Arroyo minced no words. He called the Senate's vote 'a shameless vote of acquittal,' accusing the 11 senators who blocked the opening of the envelope of being 'in the pocket of the president.' Belmonte called the decision 'devastating,' a blow to transparency and accountability. Meanwhile, Estrada, through a statement read on his behalf, struck a more tempered tone: 'Just like in any important trial… you win some, you lose some.' He urged Filipinos to 'pray for unity and guidance' and appealed for sobriety in the face of growing unrest. To many observers, the vote was widely seen as a reprieve for Estrada. The second envelope, though never opened, became a potent symbol to critics of how political allegiances could override the pursuit of truth and accountability. Over the course of 23 days—from Dec 7, 2000 to Jan 16, 2001—the Senate trial of President Estrada played out like a national reckoning in real time. Inside the Senate, frustration gave way to grief. Outside, anger turned into movement. That same night, Filipinos began converging at the EDSA Shrine. Students, religious groups, professionals, and ordinary citizens joined hands in protest, reigniting the spirit of People Power. What began in despair was now a determined push to remove a president many no longer believed had the moral right to govern. The second envelope was never opened during the Senate trial. But its contents, unseen and unread, shook the nation. It brought down the gavels in the Senate and raised fists in the streets. - Philippine Daily Inquirer/ANN (Next: From EDSA Dos to Estrada's ouster—and the political resurrection that followed.)


The Sun
a day ago
- The Sun
APEC Finance Ministers to launch new roadmap in October
KUALA LUMPUR: Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) Finance Ministers will unveil a new roadmap this October to replace the Cebu Action Plan, setting out priorities for the Finance Ministers' Process (FMP) over the next five years, said Deputy Finance Minister Lim Hui Ying. She said the roadmap would outline medium-term initiatives and deliverables under the FMP, aimed at advancing APEC's Putrajaya Vision of an open, dynamic, resilient and peaceful Asia-Pacific community. 'It is critical for ASEAN members to work together within APEC, to ensure that our common priorities in Southeast Asia are well-embedded in this new Asia-Pacific roadmap and that initiatives in ASEAN and APEC are consistent with each other and mutually supportive,' she said. Lim was speaking during her keynote address at a joint forum by the APEC Business Advisory Council (ABAC), ASEAN Business Advisory Council (ASEAN-BAC), and the Asia-Pacific Financial Forum (APFF) today.