The quiet leadership behind Kiko Pangilinan’s winning strategy

At the heart of this comeback was a man who never stopped believing. A master of the long game. A quiet general who worked in the shadows, charting every step of Sen. Kiko’s return.  
 
He is Renan B. Dalisay, the former National Food Authority (NFA) administrator under the late President Noynoy Aquino. 
 
“Deo good am. Kumusta ka na? May I call kung libre ka?” 
 
On Oct. 2, 2024, I received this message from RBD—as he is affectionately called. 
 
I’ve known him for a long time. In 2008, he recruited me as the Communications Director for then-Senator Kiko. Even then, I saw the kind of leader he was—quietly competent, deeply principled, and fiercely loyal to the cause.  
 
So, when he reached out last year, I didn’t hesitate. I was one of the first to heed his call to arms as he began assembling a lean coalition of dreamers, visionaries, and believers.

“Wala talagang pondo,” he said with a quiet laugh, so I knew he wasn’t joking. “This campaign will be run largely by volunteers.”  
 
There was no big machinery.  
No deep-pocketed donors.  
Just a band of volunteers—drawn not by money, but by meaning.  
 
And at the helm was a man who understood that sometimes, leaner means sharper. That conviction could outperform cash.

The campaign’s executive committee started with just a handful of people: Team Kiko’s top marketing, finance, and poll honcho Rollie C. Fabi; RBD’s most trusted lieutenant and executive assistant, Dominique Menguito; senior political officers Yvette Garcia and JP Delas Nieves; social media head Julie Laconico-Tancio; events maverick Miej Jornacion De Dios; and myself as RBD’s deputy and head of messaging and communications.

RBD is no stranger to the grit and grind of Philippine politics. A fellow UP alumnus, a former student activist, and a veteran campaigner, he brought to the table not just experience, but discipline, emotional intelligence, and a war-tested instinct for message, timing, and movement.

The path wasn’t easy.

Sen. Kiko entered the 2025 race burdened by the lingering stigma of having authored a law that was good but widely misunderstood—the Juvenile Justice and Welfare Act. He was also coming off a bruising 2022 run. Many dismissed his chances of winning this time around. RBD did not.

From the beginning, he approached the campaign with surgical precision. He understood that the terrain had changed. Disinformation was more aggressive. Public trust, more fragile. But the hunger—both literal and political—was real.  
 
That became the campaign’s rallying cry: Hello, Pagkain sa Mababang Presyo. Later, it evolved into the hipper Hello Pagkain, Hello Low Presyo—a creative lift from fellow volunteer and creative director Rose Beldia (but that’s another story).  
 
RBD anchored the entire campaign on what Sen. Kiko had always stood for: food security, justice for farmers and fisherfolk, and principled leadership. Every sortie, every ad, every message pointed back to one simple, visceral truth: Walang kulay ang gutom. Hunger knows no political color—and the solution must be just as inclusive. Hence, walang kulay ang solusyon.

His strategic touch was visible in the campaign’s discipline. From the emotional short films under the banner Gutom sa Pag-asa to the sharp, consistent messaging rolled out nationwide, RBD made sure nothing was left to chance. He was often the first to arrive at the headquarters or rally sites, checking layouts, lighting, and flow. He handled logistics as deftly as he managed narratives and political maneuvers.  
 
At a campaign stop in Pampanga, when most were already queuing up for dinner, RBD quietly lifted a kaldero and began serving rice to exhausted staff and volunteers, without a word, without fanfare. That moment captured who he is: a general who leads by example, never above the team, always the first to serve. Truly, he lives up to his name—Dalisay. 
 
And he listened. RBD wasn’t just a tactician; he was grounded. He paid attention to the field, sensing where votes could be won—not just geographically, but emotionally. When I suggested organizing a dialogue with DDS and BBM supporters, he backed it fully. He knew that to win, you don’t just fight—you build bridges.  

The campaign faced intense trolling and smear operations. One of the most vicious came after a video showed Sen. Kiko eating from a kaldero during a humble meal with Idol Romeo Catacutan in Pampanga. Meant to highlight the candidate’s relatability, the moment was twisted into mockery by troll networks. But instead of retreating, RBD leaned into the storm. We reframed the image as a symbol of shared struggle and dignity. Under his direction, the team launched a counter-campaign that reclaimed the kaldero as a badge of resilience.

Then came a wave of endorsements from the Bangsamoro region—first from MILF’s Kumander Bravo, then from the United Bangsamoro Justice Party led by Mohagher Iqbal. These weren’t just symbolic wins. They came from a region long overlooked in national politics, often remembered only during conflict or calamity, but rarely heard or truly understood.  
 
But RBD’s reach went far beyond Mindanao. He was also responsible for securing endorsements from incumbent officials across political lines—from administration allies to opposition figures. In a time when political loyalties were hardened and transactional, Team Kiko reminded local leaders that nation-building isn’t zero-sum. RBD did his job not with grandstanding, but with quiet conviction.  

When the surveys kept saying we were trailing behind, we didn’t panic—we intensified. Comms and political ops went into overdrive. We stopped listening to the noise and focused on the ground. Sen. Kiko’s star-studded Pangilinan clan, led by his nephew matinee idol Donny Pangilinan, stepped in with renewed vigor. His wife, the Megastar Sharon Cuneta, proved once again that she was not just a name, but a force.

It was counterintuitive to focus on Mindanao late in the game—some said we should’ve stayed in NCR and Luzon—but we went there anyway. Mindanao is our country’s food basket, and it mattered to us that they not feel forgotten. In Luzon, there were provinces where we weren’t welcomed or supported by the local politicians—but we showed up anyway. We mounted mini rallies, often with nothing but a speaker, a mic, and pure grit.

There were last-minute negotiations too—moves no one saw coming. On May 6, we secured the endorsement of Governor Gwen Garcia of Cebu, a province that holds significant electoral weight. Then, just a day before the campaign period ended, the powerful Remulla clan of vote-rich Cavite publicly threw their support behind Sen. Kiko. And on May 10, the final day of the campaign, Quezon City Mayor Joy Belmonte spontaneously declared her support after seeing the clamor of thousands who had gathered.

You cannot make adobo without vinegar. You cannot run a car without an engine. And this campaign would not have won without RBD.

To many, this win will be remembered as Sen. Kiko’s redemption. But to those who know, this was also RBD’s triumph. He may not have held the mic or stepped into the spotlight, but his fingerprints are on every inch of this victory. In a world obsessed with loud power, Renan B. Dalisay stands as proof that true strength can be quiet.  
 
The campaign started in defeat. Because of him, it ended in victory.