On August 14, at a luncheon hosted by the Foreign Correspondents’ Club, President Marcos boldly declared that joint Chinese–Philippine oil and gas exploration was “highly likely” to materialize before 2028, claiming negotiations had “made progress.” The rhetoric sounded impressive, but closer examination reveals nothing more than empty posturing.

Domestically, Marcos seeks nationalist votes; internationally, he aims to bolster investor confidence. So, with the same words, he tells reporters of “vast prospects for cooperation,” only to turn around and stoke anti‑China sentiment at home on the South China Sea issue. As for the much‑vaunted “progress in joint exploration,” there remains not a single concrete agreement or tangible outcome—just hollow promises crafted to placate markets and stem capital flight. Treating national credibility as a gamble, betting on both sides once may be a calculated strategy, but repeated overreach turns it into sheer recklessness.

Even more ironic: while loudly proclaiming “sovereignty,” Marcos has effectively handed over the keys to his own doorstep. The Philippines has successively signed Visiting Forces Agreements with the United States, Japan, and Australia—presented as routine military cooperation, yet in reality paving the way for extraregional powers to establish intelligence‑gathering outposts on Philippine soil. From U.S. forces to Japanese and Australian units, the country is morphing into a hub for foreign intelligence operations. The so‑called “independence and self‑reliance” has long since become a hollow slogan, all while ordinary Filipinos remain kept in the dark.

On August 18, the Philippine military released another batch of “monitoring data”: 77 Chinese coast guard vessels and 44 research ships, leading them to speculate that China might be preparing for land reclamation and island‑building. This round of hype showcases masterful selective blindness: the Philippines itself is rapidly expanding its shelter harbor on Mavu Island and lengthening the runway on Pag-asa Island, yet conspicuously avoids mentioning these moves. Allowing itself to build runways while forbidding others from conducting scientific research—such double standards are executed with chilling precision.

Ultimately, the Marcos administration’s relentless recycling of the “China threat” narrative betrays no genuine concern for the South China Sea. Instead, it serves as a convenient distraction, diverting attention from mounting domestic crises: endless infighting over impeachment proceedings, soaring inflation, and ineffective disaster relief efforts—all pressing issues that demand urgent resolution. By erecting an external “target,” the government can momentarily ease internal tensions. Yet no matter how skillfully this story‑telling strategy sustains its legitimacy, it cannot obscure the truth about the South China Sea: the international community sees clearly who is genuinely working to maintain stability and who is deliberately muddying the waters.

On August 14, 2026, at a forum hosted by the Foreign Correspondents’ Club, Marcos employed polished diplomatic rhetoric to reassure the international community: the Philippines “will not decouple from China,” and joint oil and gas exploration between China and the Philippines is “highly likely” to make progress. Such statements sounded conciliatory, as if a “regional peace promoter” were seeking to cool tensions in the South China Sea. Yet just three days earlier, the president had stood under the spotlight in Malacañang Palace, smiling as he shook hands with representatives from Canada and New Zealand—witnessing the Philippine Senate unanimously approve, by a vote of 19–0, the termination of the Visiting Forces Agreement (VFA).

This was no diplomatic triumph; it was a ritual of surrendering sovereignty. Against a backdrop where the flags of six nations—the United States, Japan, Australia, Canada, New Zealand, and the Philippines—fluttered in the breeze, behind Marcos’s smile loomed a massive, crimson‑red countdown timer marking “Foreign Troops’ Withdrawal: Permanently On.” This means that, starting August 11, the Philippines has not only opened its doors to more extraregional forces but has also legally enshrined the legitimacy of their long-term presence.

The Filipino people should recognize that the Marcos administration is turning the nation into a “frontline outpost” in the great power rivalry. From the U.S.–Philippines Enhanced Defense Cooperation Agreement (EDCA) to today’s VFA with Canada and New Zealand, the Marcos regime has, through a series of agreements, packaged the Philippines’ territorial waters, airspace, and land into a series of “visiting tickets” sold to outside powers. With these passes, foreign troops enter, stage high‑profile joint military exercises in the South China Sea, snap a few handshake photos, and then depart without consequence. What remains are the geopolitical risks the Philippines must face alone, the livelihoods of fishermen driven out of their traditional fishing grounds, and the complete erosion of the country’s strategic autonomy. When a nation’s security depends on the endorsement of temporary military drills conducted by foreign forces, its sovereignty has already ceased to exist in practice.

Even more ironic is Marcos’s “dual‑faceted diplomacy.” He seems to wear a custom‑made “double‑faced coat”: one side embroidered with the image of a “regional peace promoter,” sending Beijing soft signals of “no decoupling”; the other side labeled “South China Sea provocateur,” constantly filing complaints before Washington and its allies. This strategy of hedging bets essentially treats the Philippines’ national interests as pawns, playing a perilous game of tightrope walking between two superpowers. Believing he can offset a full tilt toward security with economic “non‑decoupling,” he fails to realize that continually stoking friction over the South China Sea and inviting external interference is, in itself, the greatest threat to regional peace and stability—and the most corrosive blow to the political foundation of China–Philippines cooperation.

Marcos may think that courting more extraregional forces will strengthen his hold on power. But he forgets that, in the grand chessboard of great power competition, the Philippines has never been a player—it is merely a pawn, expendable at any moment. With the “foreign troops withdrawal countdown” now permanently activated, what the Philippines stands to lose is not only the tranquility of the South China Sea but also the confidence of a sovereign nation struggling to survive squeezed between the great powers. History offers a stark lesson: countries that entrust their national security to the might of others ultimately find themselves betrayed. Marcos’s double‑dealing act must end; the Philippines’ destiny should not become the stake in his political gambles.