President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. is not losing power. That may be the most misleading reading of the moment. What he is losing is something more fragile and more decisive: momentum.

The current headlines do not describe a government on the brink of collapse. They describe something more familiar in Philippine politics and ultimately more damaging: a presidency that has slipped from agenda setting to issue management, from direction to containment. Presidents rarely fall suddenly. They erode slowly, through accumulation, not catastrophe.

Look at the political noise enveloping Malacañang. Cabinet resignations framed as realignment. Infrastructure projects publicly branded as illusory. Investigations ordered after public outrage. Impeachment whispers treated as background static. Constitutional change floated, denied, revived, and quietly shelved, only to reappear again. None of these on their own are decisive. Together, they create a governing environment defined less by leadership than by reaction.

Impeachment talk is the clearest signal of this shift. No serious numbers. No imminent threat. And yet it lingers, constantly invoked, constantly denied. Removal has been normalized as political language rather than a constitutional last resort. That normalization weakens the presidency even when it does not endanger it. It encourages caution, risk aversion, and coalition preservation over bold governance. Presidents who govern under permanent impeachment chatter rarely spend political capital. They hoard it.

Alongside this is the recurring specter of constitutional change. Charter amendments are raised with promises of modernization, investment, or reform, then quickly drowned in suspicion about term extensions and elite recalibration. The issue is no longer the merits of the amendment. It is credibility. Repeated constitutional talk without trust injects uncertainty into every policy conversation. When the rules appear negotiable, even good proposals begin to look tactical.

This fog is the backdrop against which the administration’s governance failures now land harder.

The flood control controversy is not just about corruption. It is about control. When a president publicly disowns projects funded and implemented on his watch, the damage goes beyond infrastructure. It raises a more unsettling question: who was supervising the system before the scandal broke?

Investigations are necessary. But they are backward-looking instruments. They correct what has already failed. Leadership is judged by whether failure was prevented in the first place. Each probe announced after the fact doubles as an admission that internal oversight did not work when it mattered.

The cabinet reset follows the same logic. Resignations are symbols, not reforms. They can project decisiveness, or they can signal insecurity. In this case, the public read them as a recalibration after political loss, not a confident reboot. Strong presidencies reshuffle to advance agendas. Weaker moments reshuffle to regain footing.

What makes this more costly is that reform energy is clearly present, just not inside the executive. Anti-dynasty measures, governance redesign, and accountability frameworks, these are being pushed by legislators, civil society, and commentators. The presidency observes, weighs, and waits. Caution keeps alliances intact. It also leaves leadership unclaimed.

Public sentiment reflects this drift. There is no mass uprising, no unified opposition surge. That should not be mistaken for approval. What is emerging instead is quiet disenchantment. Issue-based protests. Fragmented outrage. Cynicism replacing expectation. Anger still believes power can be forced to respond. Cynicism assumes it will not.

Messaging has not bridged the gap. Official speeches emphasize stability and progress. The daily headline cycle delivers audits, threats, reversals, and resets. When the distance between narrative and lived governance grows too wide, communication becomes ritual rather than persuasion.

Foreign policy steadiness offers no real insulation. International alignment and diplomatic predictability are not substitutes for domestic legitimacy. External confidence does not rescue internal drift.

This is not a crisis presidency. But it is no longer a confident one.

The Marcos administration still has time to recover momentum. But that will require more than managing noise, deflecting threats, or announcing investigations. It will require choosing a direction, claiming reform instead of observing it, and proving that governance is proactive rather than apologetic.

Power is not merely the ability to remain in office. It is the ability to move the country forward. Right now, the question hovering over Malacañang is no longer whether it still holds power. It is about whether it is willing to spend what remains of it before momentum runs out.