MARGINALIA: Crawling Through an Institutionalized Fitnah

MAKATI CITY (MindaNews / 12 May) – It was still dark when the call to prayer echoed through the quiet neighborhood. The dawn air was cool, almost expectant. My roommate and I—without even a sip of coffee or bite of breakfast—were already dressed and ready to head out to our voting precinct, which, thankfully, was just a stone’s throw away.

The day had arrived: election day.

From 5 to 7 in the morning was the window for senior citizens and persons with disabilities. As someone orthopedically disadvantaged, that schedule was technically mine. But “technically” doesn’t always translate into “realistically.” It was already past 7 a.m. when I finally managed to cast my vote. The teacher serving as an election officer apologized. Delayed arrival of election paraphernalia, she said. We just nodded.

In our precinct, things were peaceful—eerily so. Almost a ritual. Like previous elections, except that last barangay one, which left behind serious psychological bruises and cracks in the community’s trust. But while silence wrapped our immediate surroundings, I knew of precincts that weren’t as lucky. Gunshots. Tensions. Pockets of violence days before this very morning.

Still, I persisted.

Still, I shaded the ballot.

But not without reflection. And not without pain—not just in the shoulder that kept reminding me of my physical limits, but in the conscience that weighed the act I was doing.

Because let’s not romanticize it: voting in our context is not always a sign of liberation. Often, it is participation in an institutionalized fitnah—a trial, a tribulation that tests one’s moral fiber. And yet, here I was. Limping, yes. But voting.

I voted, not out of blind faith in the system, but out of a conscious act of ijtihād—independent legal reasoning within the bounds of our religion—or so this layman supposed. Because Islamic legal maxims remind us:

“Al-Ḍararu yuzāl” – Harm must be removed.

“Al-mashāqqah tajlibu al-taysīr” – Hardship begets ease.

“Yukhtāru akhaffu al-ḍararayn” – Choose the lesser of two harms.

“Al-‘ādah muḥakkamah” – Custom is an authoritative source of ruling.

So, in the face of a flawed system, when total boycott would result in greater harm, I chose the lesser pain. I did not vote to endorse a perfect process—I voted to engage critically, strategically, spiritually.

My ballot, I must admit, was a rainbow.

It had no singular political hue. Because to vote according to conscience, to track records, to past deeds rather than empty slogans, means refusing to be swallowed by political tribalism. Some names were familiar names. Others, reformed administrators. A few—surprising even myself—were bureaucrats with no fiery rhetoric, but a quiet record of public service.

Was it confusing? No.

It was complex, yes, but Moral Governance is not black and white. It is multi-colored, shaded by the imperfect realities of post-conflict governance. By voting, I was not just ticking names. I was making a statement: that Moral Governance, as an ideal, must start with moral discernment—even in the ballot box.

This election was not just a civic duty. It was one of the early political exercises to test our patience and resolve. To prove, we hope so—to ourselves and the world—that Moral Governance as a political mantra in our nascent self-rule is possible, even under the mechanics of a liberal democratic system that was never built for our histories, our pain, our narratives.

Self-determination is not always loud. Sometimes, it limps. Sometimes, it votes. And sometimes, it prays for redemption while shading a ballot that feels like a burden more than a choice.

But we continue—feet dragging if we must—because the alternative is surrender. And surrender, in the face of injustice, is ḥarām.

So, to the next generation:

If one day you ask why I voted, even when the system was broken, remember this: I voted not because I believed in the system, but because I believed in our ability to change it from within. Even if that change comes slowly, even if it limps—like I did that morning, walking toward an elementary school turned voting precinct, with nothing in my stomach but resolve.

I cast my vote not as an act of surrender to a broken system, but as a defiant prayer that even fitnah can one day give birth to fajr—the dawn of a just and moral order.

[MindaViews is the opinion section of MindaNews. Mansoor L. Limba, PhD in International Relations and Shari‘ah Counselor-at-Law (SCL), is a publisher-writer, university professor, vlogger, chess trainer, and translator (from Persian into English and Filipino) with tens of written and translation works to his credit on such subjects as international politics, history, political philosophy, intra-faith and interfaith relations, cultural heritage, Islamic finance, jurisprudence (fiqh), theology (‘ilm al-kalam), Qur’anic sciences and exegesis (tafsir), hadith, ethics, and mysticism. He can be reached at mlimba@diplomats.com and www.youtube.com/@WayfaringWithMansoor, and his books can be purchased at www.elzistyle.com and www.amazon.com/author/mansoorlimba.]