In the turbulent theater of Philippine politics, where alliances shift like the wind and family feuds are aired on national television, there are few figures as polarizing as Senator Imee Marcos. Recently, the Senator has been on a warpath, launching blistering attacks against the current administration and, more shockingly, against her own brother, the President. Her rhetoric has been centered on accusations of incompetence and, most controversially, allegations regarding substance abuse. However, in a twist of irony that could only happen in the age of social media, the spotlight has swung violently back onto her. A resurfaced narrative involving former beauty queen Aurora Pijuan has ignited a firestorm of criticism, with observers suggesting that the Senator’s own erratic behavior and questionable past make her the last person who should be casting stones. The public discourse has shifted from analyzing her political points to dissecting her character, with many asserting that her current demeanor is far more disturbing than the “addicts” she claims to despise.

To understand the depth of this backlash, one must revisit a chapter of history that the Marcos family has long tried to bury under layers of revisionism. The name Aurora Pijuan is not just a footnote; it represents a profound grievance. Pijuan, a Miss International titleholder, was the first wife of Tommy Manotoc, a sportsman who would later become Imee Marcos’s husband. The dissolution of Pijuan’s marriage and the subsequent union of Manotoc and Marcos was shrouded in controversy, involving a bizarre and highly publicized “disappearance” of Manotoc that many critics at the time alleged was a staged kidnapping orchestrated to force a separation. For decades, Pijuan maintained a dignified silence, raising her children with grace while Imee Marcos ascended the political ladder. Today, as Imee positions herself as a moral arbiter, the memory of that “stolen” relationship serves as a stark counterpoint. Netizens and commentators are now weaponizing Pijuan’s quiet dignity against Imee’s loud aggression, pointing out that true class does not need to scream to be heard.

The core of the current controversy lies in the Senator’s relentless focus on the alleged substance abuse issues of her political rivals. She has frequently used the term “bangag” (high or wasted) to describe the President, a serious accusation that demands evidence. However, this strategy appears to be backfiring spectacularly. By constantly bringing up the behavior of addicts, she has invited the public to scrutinize her own behavior. Critics have been quick to point out that her recent public appearances have been marked by frantic energy, disjointed speech, and aggressive outbursts that some argue are “worse than an addict.” The commentary suggests that while substance abuse is a health issue, the kind of malicious, destructive behavior attributed to the Senator—both in her past personal life and her current political maneuvering—is a character flaw that is far more damaging to the nation.

This comparison is gaining traction because it taps into a deep-seated cultural belief in “karma” and the idea that character eventually reveals itself. When observers watch the Senator speak, they no longer see just a politician; they see a woman who, according to critics, has never been held accountable for the pain she caused another family. The contrast between Aurora Pijuan, who rebuilt her life with quiet strength, and Imee Marcos, who seems perpetually embroiled in conflict, is jarring. Pijuan represents the victim who overcame, while Marcos is increasingly viewed as the aggressor who cannot find peace. This perception undermines every attack she launches. When she speaks of integrity, the public remembers the Manotoc affair. When she speaks of the welfare of the family, the public remembers the family she was accused of breaking.

Furthermore, the Senator’s erratic conduct is being analyzed not just as political theater, but as a sign of desperation. In her attempt to distance herself from the administration’s perceived failures, she has become increasingly isolated. The “unstable” label is sticking because her actions seem to lack a coherent strategy other than destruction. By attacking the President so vicariously, she is essentially burning down her own house. Observers note that a person in full control of their faculties and confident in their moral standing does not need to resort to low blows and hysteria. The comparison to an “addict” is metaphorical but potent; it suggests a person addicted to power, addicted to attention, and unable to function without creating chaos.

The “Aurora Pijuan factor” serves as a mirror that reflects the Senator’s ugliest flaws. It reminds the public that political power does not erase personal history. The internet has a long memory, and the sympathy for Pijuan has never truly waned. Every time Imee Marcos steps up to the microphone to deliver a tirade, the comments sections are flooded with reminders of what happened decades ago. It is a haunting that she cannot escape. The narrative has evolved from “Imee vs. BBM” to “Imee vs. Her Own Past.” In this battle, she is unarmed. She cannot claim moral superiority when her own closet is full of skeletons that are now dancing in the light of day.

Moreover, the public’s reaction indicates a fatigue with the type of politics the Senator represents. The aggressive, mudslinging style is being rejected in favor of authenticity. By trying to paint her brother as the “sick” one, she has inadvertently highlighted her own “sickness”—a sickness of spirit, a lack of empathy, and a relentless drive for dominance at the expense of others. The comment that she acts “worse than an addict” is a profound condemnation. It implies that while a substance user may harm themselves, a person with unchecked malice harms everyone around them. It suggests that the toxicity coming from her is natural, inherent, and therefore, incurable.

As the political drama continues to unfold, the Senator finds herself in a precarious position. She is shouting into a void where fewer and fewer people are willing to listen. The resurrection of the Aurora Pijuan story is a testament to the fact that you cannot build a legacy on the ruins of someone else’s happiness without eventually paying the price. The “divine justice” that many netizens are referencing is simply the natural consequence of a life lived without accountability. The Senator may continue her attacks, she may continue to dominate the headlines, but she has lost the war for the public’s respect. In the end, the quiet dignity of the woman she wronged decades ago has proven to be louder and more powerful than any speech Imee Marcos could ever deliver. The judgment has been passed, not by a court of law, but by the court of public opinion, and the verdict is devastating.