MARGINALIA: Derrida’s Reading of Analyst vs. Commentator

MAKATI CITY (MindaNews / 23 December) – In Philippine politics, words do not merely describe reality. They perform it.

That is why, in our social media feeds, the title “political analyst” enjoys a privileged seat, which is usually higher than the humbler “political commentator.” One sounds scientific, sober, almost prophetic. The other sounds noisy, opinionated, and suspiciously emotional.

One is imagined to be guided by data; the other, by bias. One claims objectivity; the other admits subjectivity. One is presumed to occupy a moral high ground; the other, the muddy streets of partisan quarrel.

At least, that is the manner in which the hierarchy is set.

But as Jacques Derrida would lovingly, and mischievously, remind us, every hierarchy conceals a quivering instability at its heart. What is “privileged” is never natural; it is constructed. And what is constructed can always be deconstructed.

Deconstruction does not destroy meaning. It listens closely to them until they betray their own contradictions.

So, let us do a Derridean move in full: first, a double reading, i.e., accepting the hierarchy as it presents itself; then, a deconstructive reading, exposing how hierarchy depends on what it tries to exclude.

In the first reading, the political analyst appears as a modern oracle. Armed with surveys, historical trends, insider language, and confident graphs, the analyst predicts electoral outcomes, coalition shifts, and public moods. The analyst speaks in probabilities and percentages, invoking the authority of “data” and “models.”

On Facebook and X (formerly Twitter), the analyst is introduced with academic credentials, think-tank affiliations, or foreign degrees—often highlighted more than the content of what is actually being said.

The analyst, we are told, does not take sides. The analyst merely reads the numbers. The analyst explains reality as it is.

By contrast, the “political commentator” is framed as reactive. Emotional. Many times angry. Often partisan. Someone who “just shares opinions,” who “just reacts to events,” who lacks the calm detachment of the analyst.

Thus, an analyst-commentator binary is born: objective vs. subjective, predictive vs. reactive, rational vs. emotional, neutral vs. partisan, credible vs. suspicious.

This hierarchy comforts us. It reassures us that, amid political chaos, there are still neutral minds who can guide us—almost above the fray.

Now comes the Derridean move not merely to reverse the hierarchy but to unsettle it.

Let’s ask an uncomfortable question: When analysts speak within Philippine social media, are they doing something categorically different from what commentators have done?

And the answer, if we are honest with ourselves, is chilling.

The instant an analyst decides which data to foreground, which survey to believe, which historical analogy to summon up, and which variables to marginalize, interpretation has already begun.

And interpretation is never neutral.

Here deconstruction bites: the analyst’s claim to objectivity depends precisely on the same selective acts it accuses the commentator of committing openly. What is presented as reading facts is, in truth, a writing of meaning.

Prediction itself is not innocent. To predict is to frame the future in a certain way, to make someoutcomes seem inevitable and others unthinkable. When an analyst repeatedly says, “This candidate is unelectable,” that statement does not merely describe reality—it participates in producing it.

On social media, the analyst also performs: tone management (calm, professorial, dismissive), moral signaling (“I’m just stating facts”), and strategic silence (not commenting on inconvenient data).

In short, the analyst comments but with better branding.

The so-called commentator, on the other hand, is simply more honest about their position. They do not hide behind spreadsheets. They speak from lived experience, moral outrage, or community memory. Their language may be raw, but it is not necessarily less truthful.

Here, deconstruction completes its work: the analyst depends on the commentator for its own meaning. Without the “noisy” commentator, the analyst cannot present itself as sober. Without subjectivity, objectivity has nothing to contrast itself against.

The hierarchy collapses not because the commentator triumphs but because the distinction itself proves unstable.

In Philippine politics, neutrality is not just rare; it is often performative. We have seen analysts who missed major electoral earthquakes. We have heard confident predictions dissolve within weeks. We have watched moral certainty retrofitted after events unfold.

And yet, the title “analyst” survives. Why?

Because in a deeply polarized society, the label offers comfort. It allows audiences to believe that someone, somewhere, is above the mud. It allows power to cloak itself in technocratic language.

It allows political preferences to masquerade as statistical inevitabilities.

Islamic ethics teaches us otherwise. The Qur’an does not equate truth with detachment. It equates truth with amānah—moral responsibility. Even the Prophet (ṣ) was never “neutral” between justice and oppression. Clarity, not pretense, was the higher virtue.

“Do not mix truth with falsehood, nor conceal the truth while you know.” (Qur’an 2:42)

Sometimes, what is concealed is not data but position.

This is not a call to abolish analysis. We need rigorous thinking. We need data. We need historical memory. But we also need honesty.

Perhaps the more ethical move is not to ask, “Are you an analyst or a commentator?” but: What assumptions guide your reading? Whose interests does your framing serve? What are you unwilling to ask?

In the age of Philippine social media, the real divide is not between analysts and commentators but between those who acknowledge their standpoint and those who hide behind a title.

And maybe the most dangerous commentator is not the loud one but the one who insists he is merely “an analyst,” floating above the storm, untouched by the politics he so confidently predicts.

Because Derrida would remind us that the center is always already unstable. #Derrida #DoubleReading #Deconstruction #PhilippinePolitics #Postmodernism

[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 http://www.youtube.com/@WayfaringWithMansoor, and his books can be purchased at www.elzistyle.com and https://ift.tt/OiUwpdx.]