In a nation that reveres courage—from the boxing ring to the halls of governance—backing down after throwing the first punch doesn’t sit well with Filipinos. That’s why Akbayan Party-list Representative Perci Cendaña is making waves after publicly calling out Davao City Vice Mayor Baste Duterte for pulling back from a proposed boxing match with PNP Chief Gen. Nicolas Torre III—a match Baste himself initiated.
But Cendaña’s statement wasn’t just about the canceled fight. It was also a lesson in respect, identity, and the deeper meaning of bravery.
“Please don’t use the word ‘bakla’ to insult Baste Duterte,” Cendaña appealed on social media. “There are many courageous and principled members of the LGBTQIA+ community. That term shouldn’t be used to mock someone who backs down from a fight.”
Cendaña’s remarks came after Duterte suddenly shifted the narrative, asking for a drug test before facing Torre in the ring—an unexpected move that left many wondering if the challenge was ever serious. While the Vice Mayor claimed he was simply following President Marcos’ call for elected officials to undergo hair follicle drug testing, others, including Cendaña, saw it as a cop-out.
“Baste’s retreat isn’t about caution—it’s about character,” Cendaña wrote in a follow-up post. “Courage isn’t inherited. It’s earned.”
That post came with a biting image of a jetski—an obvious jab at the broken campaign promise of Baste’s father, former President Rodrigo Duterte, who once vowed to ride a jetski to the West Philippine Sea to assert Philippine sovereignty. The caption: “Ako nga nganga, asa ka pa sa boxing?!” was a cheeky reminder of how words, when left unfulfilled, erode public trust.
“Like father, like son,” Cendaña quipped.
For many Filipinos watching this public feud unfold, the spectacle is more than just political theater. It’s about accountability. A challenge was issued. A date and venue were set—Araneta Coliseum, no less, for July 27, as a charity match meant to aid typhoon victims nationwide. Torre had accepted with grace and even turned the spat into a fundraising opportunity.
But now, the ring may remain empty.
What began as a macho dare has morphed into a reflection on leadership, masculinity, and honor. And Cendaña’s voice is serving as a powerful reminder: the LGBTQIA+ community in the Philippines has long embodied strength, resilience, and integrity. Misusing the term “bakla” as an insult not only perpetuates discrimination—it also dishonors those who live courageously every day.
In the end, whether inside the ring or out, the question remains: when the time comes to fight for something that matters—whether it’s a cause, a promise, or a country—who will actually show up?
And who will just talk?