Media critique is often associated with high school book reports and pedantic, hoity-toity art critics, to the point that “it’s not deep” has become a phrase said all too commonly. This is especially true when criticism approaches art through a social or political lens. In doing so, however, it ignores the very nature of art itself: art is inherently political. Yet, few know what it really means.

I remember early on in my tenure as a staff member at The HERALDO FILIPINO, art not always being made in a political context was a stance I firmly believed in. I mean, if that wasn’t the authorial or artistic intent, why would an artwork ever be considered “political” (whatever that meant) in the first place? Couldn’t art just be made for fun? For entertainment? Did we always have to look deeper into the things we create? 

It quickly became apparent to me, though, that the relationship between the artist, the viewer, and politics goes far beyond just the intent.

Historically, art is regularly used as political commentary. Take, for instance, the works of Juan Luna, who used his paintings to comment on the treatment of Filipinos during the Spanish colonial era. In the modern age, political art continues to thrive in the form of protest art—and you see this manifested in the caricatures of Marcos in artworks made during the Martial Law period, or even as recent as the placards made for the Trillion Peso March. 

This is often what people mean when they say “art is political”: art created to explicitly comment on current issues or events. However, politics is not confined to protest art alone.  Even mainstream entertainment can carry political meaning. 

No person lives in a vacuum. A truly apolitical existence is impossible; supposedly “apolitical” stances often become political statements. Art is much the same way—apolitical art ends up saying just as much, if not more, about the opinions of its artist than political art.

Art has always been political—not because every artist intends to comment on current political events or to concretely define where an artist or writer falls on the political spectrum, but because our way of living is deeply entwined from the decisions of politicians. Art is a reflection of the lived experience, and those realities inevitably find their way into what we create, whether consciously or not. 

Still, people deny the explicit connection between art and politics, even with stories that can be read as explicitly about politics. People watched Katniss Everdeen’s speech in The Hunger Games about revolting against the Capitol for its crimes against Panem’s populace, yet demean and red-tag activists who campaign against the same type of violence the Capitol inflicts on their favorite characters. People watched Arcane, which brutally explored the effects of classism on the lower classes, yet directed their anger toward the homeless rather than the wealthy one percent whose decisions contribute to those conditions. Wicked broke office records and became one of the most beloved movie-musicals of 2025, but its commentary on the nature of good and evil, totalitarianism, and propaganda is treated largely as a fictional conflict to prop up the relationship of its protagonists by casual movie-goers.

I have seen people at art markets wonder how and why prices continue to rise, overlooking how broader geopolitical events—such as conflicts affecting global oil supplies—can contribute to inflation. For the average person, art is a product to mindlessly consume for entertainment, never a tool for self-reflection or deeper analysis.

The greatest tool we have against propaganda and disinformation is our ability to think critically. In an age dominated by a culture that prioritizes fast, easy, and convenient consumerism over hard, troubling, yet verifiable truths, it becomes easier than ever to believe in something wrong than right, especially in a world dominated by social media conglomerates. 

Art provides a medium to explore complex societal issues in a way people can more easily digest. Those book reports or movie critiques required for your English classes that you may not have taken seriously because “well, minor lang kasi ito”? They train our minds to think deeper into the nuances of our world. They encourage us to expect more—from the media we consume and from the world around us. 

The next time you watch a movie, binge a TV show, or read a book and find yourself feeling that there is more beneath the surface, sit with that feeling. Think about it. Ruminate on it. Explore why it makes you feel that way, and what that says about the world we live in. 

You never know—it really could be that deep.