Just weeks after the Commission on Elections (COMELEC) proclaimed on January 25, 2019 that the Bangsamoro Organic Law (BOL) had been ratified through the January 21 plebiscite, I sat down with a sense of guarded optimism and wrote a two-part column titled “Four Enduring Challenges to Revolutionary-to-Ruler Transition” (https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1BxkAvd2RG and https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1W1CUYgELE).

It was my small contribution, a humble roadmap of sorts, for what would soon become the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM). Or, so I thought.

Drawing lessons from the Islamic Republic of Iran’s post-revolution transition, I identified four critical challenges: (1) simplicity or simple living, (2) openness to criticism, (3) loyalty vs. competence, and (4) blaming the enemy.

Of the four, one continues to haunt revolutionary transitions everywhere—including ours in the Bangsamoro homeland. Let me take you back to what I wrote then, because it remains deeply relevant today:

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3. Loyalty vs. competence.

After the victory of the Islamic Revolution, the ideal situation is that loyalty to the revolutionary ideals is combined with competence in governance. In other words, the revolutionaries will ideally become the government officials and public administrators.

But this is not always the case. The ideal is not always the real. Experiences show that a good revolutionary is not necessarily a good ruler. So is the opposite. To be a revolutionary requires a particular set of skills and attitude to work that is not necessarily identical with that of a ruler.

The enormity of the national political machinery is such that the number of ‘loyal’ personalities is sometimes not enough for the number of government positions that require distinct competencies within the short, yet critical, period of transition. In such a situation, the challenge is to whether or not accommodate ‘not-so-loyal’ – but competent – people to assume some of those responsibilities. After this short period of transition, the next challenge is to whether or not the revolutionaries and their ‘loyal’ supporters will overcome or will be willing to overcome the steep learning curve of public administration.

While many veterans of the Iraqi-imposed War (1980-88) can be seen occupying key administrative posts in Iran’s Ministry of Higher Education and universities – as in other ministries and quasi-government agencies – a veteran classmate of mine [while taking up my MA in International Relations], who joined the Basij (people’s voluntary mobilization force) at a young age of 15 in repelling Saddam’s eight-year war of aggression and lost his right eye in the process, has taken a different path. Instead of just applying for one of those posts, he preferred to take and pass the highly competitive national university entrance examination [called Konkur in Persian from the French word concours (meaning ‘competition’] and then to pursue master’s degree in International Relations.

While my classmate and I were sitting together in the bus along with other students of Shahid Beheshti University (formerly called the National University of Iran) on our way to the southern city of Khorramshahr during a summer educational tour, I asked him, “Chera tarji‘ dadid keh dars khonid darhali keh hamin hala berahati mitavanid kar konid dar vezarat-e ‘umuri kharijeh ya sazmanha-ye dikar?” (“Why did you prefer to study while right now you can easily land a job in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or any other [government] organizations (on account of being a war veteran)?”)

My friend smiled and retorted in Persian while bowing his head, “You see, during that time my duty was to defend the national sovereignty and territorial integrity of the then newly founded Islamic Republic against Saddam who was armed-to-the-teeth by the superpowers and immensely financed by neighboring countries. That’s why I fought then. Now, my duty is to contribute in the rebuilding of my country, and in doing so, I need to hone the necessary skills and achieve certain qualifications for such national reconstruction and rehabilitation. That’s why I’m studying now.”

As I was listening attentively, he continued, “I don’t want to take my earlier performance of duty as my ticket to perform my current duty; or worse still, to regard it as an instrument to get a reward of position today or in the future. Both the past and the present are a matter of fulfilling one’s obligation. And real recompense will be in the hereafter, insha’ Allah.”

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Today, seven years into the Bangsamoro transition, we find ourselves face-to-face with the same question: Are we fairly balancing loyalty with competence? Have we scaled the steep learning curve of governance, or are we still hanging on to the credentials of past struggles as sufficient currency for present responsibilities?

As the 2025 midterm elections approach, the challenge for every voter and stakeholder is clear: To seek both loyalty and competence. But in their absence, we must be prepared to weigh and navigate between the two.

This is not merely a matter of preference or strategy—it is a matter of survival for a government built on the ideals of Moral Governance. If we fail to take up this challenge, we risk sliding back into the political quagmire we once fought so hard to escape.

Let us not be complacent. Let us not confuse medals of past sacrifice with the license to misgovern in the present. And let us not reward mere loyalty when the task at hand demands skill, vision, and integrity.

Because rebuilding a homeland—like rebuilding a country—requires more than just memories of war. It requires minds trained in peace.

Photo: Tehran Times