There is an invisible war going on all around us, and we’ve all seen it in our Facebook feeds. It’s a war waged by two sides spanning all socio-economic statuses, ages, genders, and professions. One side is made up of laid-back, relaxed people who would laugh easily at even the lamest joke. They enjoy watching AlDub before taking a siesta in the afternoon, and say that it’s okay to be mababaw. The other side is comprised of tense people shuffling about, and have no time to pay pleasantries to someone who just made a sorry attempt at a joke. They maintain a jam-packed daily schedule and have no time for such kababawan, going about announcing their utter disgust at people in the other side.

I personally don’t know which side I belong to, and from here it seems like I’m trapped between two platoons of angry soldiers marching right into each other. I harbor no hate towards people who claim to be mababaw, nor towards those who vehemently deny that they are. I know however, that I find it easy to laugh and enjoy unwinding at the end of a long workday by watching viral videos shared on my Facebook wall, and I am not bothered by AlDub posts flooding the feed. In fact, I’ve also seen their skit once or twice, and I admit that I chuckled at the antics of Tito, Vic, and Joey — along with the two Lolas whose names I fail to recall. But I agree that sometimes, the AlDub craze can get out of hand — especially when GMA overblows the whole thing by bombarding us with “news” about the couple. To an extent, that irks me as well, but I understand enough about how media companies work not to excessively rant about it. For the record, I’ve seen Vice Ganda’s Showtime too, and I remember being amused at their variety show portion. I haven’t seen any segment with Pastillas Girl, nor do I intend to. It’s not the aim of this essay to argue whether Showtime’s Pastillas Girl is a farce, and I’d rather not dip into that topic, so instead I’ll cap this part off by saying that it’s just not my cup of tea.

That said — where am I? Whose uniform do I don and whose battle cry do I shout? Which side am I on? The answer is… neither, and possibly both at the same time.

The problem lies with the false dichotomy. A person cannot be defined simply by being mababaw or not. Choosing to say ‘hey, I enjoy mababaw vids‘ does not automatically group you with the craze-driven crowd. On the other hand, choosing to say that AlDub does not pique your interest does not automatically paint you a cynic, devoid of all kababawan. Idiosyncrasies such as kababawan are not binary, and instead they are defined by a spectrum: a concoction of individual preferences that converge to define a persona.

I remember a conversation in the office: while browsing through Facebook on her phone, a colleague came across an AlDub post and out of curiosity, asked out loud what it was about. Another colleague — who firmly insisted he was not a fan — knew enough about AlDub to explain the whole situation to the entire team (which, hey honestly, was how I learned about AlDub too). The first colleague remained smiling throughout the course of the other colleague’s explanation, even occasionally noting that the idea seems cute and that she was curious to see the segment. Bottomline is this — there’s a trait inherent to all of us that makes us curious and amused at novel ideas, and it’s not a bad thing. Kababawan is merely how strongly we react to this trait, or how easily our funny bone gets tickled.

Admit it or not, everyone is fundamentally, intrinsically mababaw. And that’s not exclusive to just Filipinos, nor just younger people. In 1990, a British Electrical Engineering Masters student named Rowan Atkinson created a (mostly) silent sitcom called Mr. Bean. The show featured an eccentric, middle-aged man trying to solve day-to-day problems, often producing hilarious outcomes. Mr. Bean became a massive international hit. It won the coveted Rose d’Or, and was nominated for a number of BAFTA awards. Even today in 2015, I’m pretty confident that a lot of people still recognize the name Mr. Bean and laugh at the memory.

Mr. Bean is not the only proof that even the simplest jokes naturally appeal to people. The Simpsons, another universally recognized name, started out as a series of shorts in The Tracy Ullman Show in 1987, and after three seasons got its own half-hour show. The Simpsons is the longest-running comedy cartoon on American television (with 578 episodes under its belt as of writing this), and has won a number of awards including 31 Primetime Emmy Awards, 30 Annie Awards, and a Peabody Award. Statistics proved that not only did people find Mr. Bean and The Simpsons funny, but they also enjoyed the light humor enough to make them two of the most recognized shows in the history of television. And who says these two shows aren’t mababaw?

Kababawan isn’t inherently bad. What’s bad is when other people exploit this trait for their own interests, and use it as a way to manipulate people. Such is the case of the Vice President of the Philippines, Jejomar C. Binay. The thinking class of the Philippines is baffled as to why Binay has so many supporters, despite all the glaring scandals and accusations tied to his and his family’s name. After a multitude of allegations and court hearings (most of which, if not all, he did not attend), the number of supporters of the good VP especially in Makati, where he was Mayor for 20 years — give or take — is still unwavering. In fact, when his son Jejomar “Junjun” Binay, Mayor of Makati, was ordered to step down from office and surrender himself to the authorities, Binay’s supporters rallied in front of the Makati City Hall and started hurling monobloc chairs to the government agents tasked with escorting Junjun out. They stood defiant and barricaded the city hall, loyally standing their ground due to their undying love for their mayor. Or because of a Jollibee meal and 300 pesos.

See, Binay is an expert at appealing to his constituents’ most superficial needs. The good people of Makati say that the VP loves them so much, he’d go personally visiting their relatives’ funerals and would send them (overpriced) cake on their birthdays. This is why I was not so surprised when I asked a neighbor who her president will be in the upcoming elections, and she answered — without second thought — “Si Binay. Namimigay daw siya ng pagkain sa mahirap ‘e. Gusto ko, ganon din dito.”

Funeral wreaths, birthday cakes, and Jollibee meals are effective at evoking the lower-class Filipino’s kababawan. It bears the promise that the sender really cares for them, and would go out of their way to send their deepest condolences or greetings. It brands the politician as reliable, and that surely in their time of need, that politician will send their help. To an average Filipino, the promise of a concerned and caring politician is more important than so-called achievements, principles, and character — even if that concern is ultimately a facade for a corrupt ulterior motive.

There’s no shame in being — even at just the slightest extent — mababaw. Shallow antics and corny jokes don’t need a lot of thinking, which helps in relaxing after an arduous workday. This kababawan, as shown by AlDub, is powerful enough to set a new world record on Twitter. After all, 25 million tweets is huge, and still doesn’t account for all the Filipinos with no access to Twitter. And that’s what makes kababawan so scary. Politicians like Binay know how to exploit it, and they can effectively use the power of many to do their bidding.

This is what the thinking class needs to realize — it’s not enough to present facts and compelling arguments. Binay’s supporters will not waver the slightest despite all the glaring legalese against their dear leader. To speak to the masses, we should strip ourselves of the unnecessary jargon and highfalutin diction. Instead, we should understand that most people connect better through our most fundamental joys and aspirations — that which is shallow — our most inner kababawan.