THERE is a cruel irony emerging in our country today. As swollen rivers sweep away homes and drown entire communities, billions of pesos meant to protect them have vanished. They were stolen in plain sight, disguised as “flood control projects.”

Sen. Panfilo “Ping” Lacson’s latest revelations have not merely exposed the rot beneath the veneer of bureaucracy; they have mapped its very anatomy. What he has revealed is a system so intricate and audaciously shameless, where theft is normalized, even systematic. It’s a stark example of “creative corruption” — a more elegant phrase for plunder, which, in Philippine jurisprudence, is a crime deserving life imprisonment.

While ordinary Filipinos wade through waist-deep floods, powerful hands are wading through public coffers. The people lose homes; the corrupt gain houses, not to mention dozens of luxury vehicles — including Bentleys and Rolls Royces — in their garages. The public drowns in despair; syndicates swim in cash.

The mathematics of plunder and a dictionary of deceit

The senator highlights how funds are distributed in a P100-million flood control project. After standard legal deductions, about P82 million should be available for construction. However, a more detailed breakdown reveals that portions go to “dirty little fingers.” The process is a fiscal feeding frenzy, where each actor takes their pre-negotiated cut:

– 8 to 10 percent to Department of Public Works and Highways officials: plain “kickback.”

– 6 percent to district engineers: “reseta” contractors must swallow.

– 5 to 6 percent to the Bids and Awards Committee.

– 0.5 to 1 percent to the Commission on Audit (COA).

– 5 to 6 percent as “parking fees” for politicians who control the districts.

– 20 to 25 percent for the “funder” — the lawmaker who inserts the project into the budget.

What remains is insufficient for constructing a reliable dike, let alone protecting communities from typhoons and their accompanying floods. This goes beyond mere government inefficiency; it is deliberate and systematic theft, planned with precision.

Case studies in betrayal

The consequences of this mathematical plunder are not buried in spreadsheets, but written in the mud and misery of inundated villages across the archipelago. The anecdotal evidence cited by Lacson is not a series of isolated failures, but a pattern of betrayal. In Bulacan, 30 “ghost projects” existing only on paper were funded and disbursed. Reports were filed by the DPWH with the COA’s imprimatur, but not a single stone was laid.

The same insidious pattern is seen in Pampanga, where the flood control project in Candaba town ballooned from P20 million to a staggering P274 million through repeated, never-ending “repairs,” always awarded to the same contractor. A dam was built, but it was designed not to hold water, but to hold plundered funds.

In La Union, the Bauang River Basin — initially a reasonable P100 million in the National Expenditure Program (NEP) — mysteriously swelled to P1.6 billion after congressional insertions. The river did not expand; the greed did, flowing with an unstoppable current. And in Oriental Mindoro, nearly P19 billion in flood control funds over just three years resulted in dikes that collapsed after the first heavy rainfall.

One P193-million project turned out to be a mirage, existing only in documents. These are not isolated anomalies. They are symptoms of a design, a cruel blueprint where corruption is the foundation and collapse in good governance is the inevitable result.

The machinery of patronage

At the heart of this fiscal manipulation lies a powerful machinery of political patronage, where elections are prioritized over genuine infrastructure needs. Ghost projects are not accidents, but tools of power. A lawmaker can boast of a P1-billion insertion in the budget to secure loyalty from local officials and constituents, while mayors and governors overlook shoddy quality in exchange for campaign largesse that ensure their continued reign.

This system is enabled by government agencies themselves. The DPWH, the very entity responsible for upholding engineering standards, often becomes a facilitator of kickbacks. Even the COA, the supposed last line of defense, is alleged to receive its “share” of the spoils.

Contractors, caught between a rock and a hard place, must either comply and become complicit or be left out of the game entirely. The result is a nation held hostage, where political interests consistently outweigh public safety, leaving citizens at risk with every storm.

The legislative triumvirate

The most egregious example of this machinery was executed behind the 2025 General Appropriations Act’s fiscal manipulation by Speaker Martin Romualdez; Ako Bicol Party-list Rep. and House appropriations panel chairman Zaldy Co (also a contractor), and Marikina’s then-representative Stella Quimbo. They allegedly orchestrated one of the most brazen budget insertions, earmarking over P400 billion — nearly half of the trillion-plus national budget — for flood control projects under the DPWH. As of this publication, two dozen House members have been implicated in this corruption (the subject of my next column). These funds didn’t come from nowhere. They were siphoned off from critical social services of the Department of Education and the Philippine Health Insurance Corp., both already battered by chronic underfunding. The money was hidden and rebranded as “climate resilience” initiatives.

A nation drowning twice

Floods damage homes and crops, but corruption undermines trust even more deeply. Each failed project and stolen peso weaken faith in government and democratic institutions.

Flood control should be an act of survival in a country battered by as much as 20 typhoons a year. Instead, it has become an act of betrayal, where the public pays the price while the corrupt pocket the funds. The Philippines is not just drowning in floodwaters; it is drowning in greed.

This loss of trust breeds widespread apathy and despair. When citizens view leaders as corrupt, they feel powerless to effect change, leading to disengagement from civic duties, such as paying taxes or voting. This apathetic despair is the second flood, a rising tide of hopelessness that is far more destructive than any storm.

From flood control to greed control

Lacson’s call for “greed control” deserves more than applause; it demands action. Reforms must begin with budget transparency. Every insertion must be tracked, every contractor scrutinized, every peso accounted for.

Accreditation boards like the Philippine Contractors Accreditation Board (PCAB) must be cleaned out. Whistleblowers must be protected, not silenced. And when ghost projects are exposed, prosecutions must follow swiftly. Preventive suspensions or mere resignations are just bureaucratic theater; they’re mere “moro-moro.”

Most of all, citizens must resist acquiescence. Corruption thrives when outrage drowns in apathy. The floods are not only natural; they are political. And like floods, they will rise again and again unless levees of reform are built.

Lacson has handed the nation not just a report, but a mirror. We should not avert our gaze. Recovering P1.9 trillion is important, but recovering our integrity is even more so. This is not just a fight for clean dikes and stronger floodgates; it is a struggle for the soul of governance itself. To remain silent is to be complicit. To accept this corruption is to admit that the Filipino people will forever drown — sometimes in water, always in greed.

We should respond with our own storm of rage, a flood of our anger!

The Senate President crowed yesterday that the party he nominally coheads, PDP-Laban, has a “pleasant problem” — too many potential senatorial candidates. Koko Pimentel’s estimate is they have up to 20 possible choices for the 12-person slate for the 2019 senatorial race. But his list includes the five administration-affiliated senatorial incumbents up for reelection next year. This is a group that has made noises that, much as it prefers to remain in the administration camp, it is unhappy with the way PDP-Laban has been designating its local leaders and candidates, and therefore prefers to strike out on its own, perhaps in alliance with the other administration (regional) party, Hugpong ng Pagbabago, headed by the President’s daughter and current Davao City mayor, Sara Duterte.

Setting aside, then, the five-person “Force,” the administration-oriented but not PDP-friendly reelectionists (Nancy Binay, Sonny Angara, Cynthia Villar, Grace Poe, and JV Ejercito), what Koko’s crowing over is a mixed bag. Some of them have been floated by Speaker Pantaleon Alvarez (with whom Mayor Duterte clashed in recent months): six representatives (Gloria Macapagal Arroyo who is in her last term in the House of Representatives; Albee Benitez, Karlo Nograles, Rey Umali, Geraldine Roman, and Zajid Mangudadatu), three Cabinet members (Bong Go, Harry Roque, and Francis Tolentino), and two other officials (Mocha Uson and Ronald dela Rosa), which still only adds up to 11 possible candidates (who are the missing three?).

Of all of these, the “Force” reelectionists are only fair-weather allies of the present dispensation; their setting themselves apart is about much more than the mess PDP-Laban made in, say, San Juan where support for the Zamoras makes it extremely unattractive for JV Ejercito to consider being in the same slate. Their cohesion is about thinking ahead: Creating the nucleus for the main coalition to beat in the 2022 presidential election. The contingent of congressmen and congresswomen who could become candidates for the Senate, however, seems more a means to kick the Speaker’s rivals upstairs (at least in the case of Benitez and Arroyo) and pad the candidates’ list with token but sacrificial candidates, a similar situation to the executive officials being mentioned as possible candidates (of the executive officials, only Go seems viable, but making him run would deprive the President of the man who actually runs the executive department, and would be a clear signal that the administration is shifting to a post-term protection attitude instead of the more ambitious system-change mode it’s been on, so far).

Vice President Leni Robredo has been more circumspect, saying she’s not sure the Liberal Party can even muster a full slate. The party chair, Kiko Pangilinan, denied that a list circulating online (incumbent Bam Aquino, former senators Mar Roxas, Jun Magsaysay, TG Guingona, current and former representatives Jose Christopher Belmonte, Kaka Bag-ao, Edcel Lagman, Raul Daza, Gary Alejano and Erin Tañada, former governor Eddie Panlilio and Cebu City Mayor Tomas Osmeña) had any basis in fact.

What both lists have in common is they could be surveys-on-the-cheap, trial balloons to get the public pulse. Until the 17th Congress reconvenes briefly from May 14 to June 1 for the tail end of its second regular session (only to adjourn sine die until the third regular session begins on July 23), it has nothing much to do. Except, that is, for the barangay elections in May, after a last-ditch effort by the House to postpone them yet again to October failed.

Names can be floated but the real signal will come in July, when the President mounts the rostrum and calls for the big push for a new constitution—or not. Connected to this would be whether the Supreme Court disposes of its own chief, which would spare the Senate—and thus, free up the legislative calendar—to consider Charter change instead of an impeachment trial. In the meantime, what congressmen do seem abuzz over is an unrefusable invitation to the Palace tomorrow — to mark Arroyo’s birthday. An event possibly pregnant with meaning.

The Centrist View: Back to Basics

In an era marked by deepening social divides, persistent inequality, and political uncertainty, the Philippines stands at a critical juncture in its national life. Competing ideologies vie for dominance, often pulling the nation toward extremes. Amid this turbulence, a centrist perspective — rooted in the principles of human dignity and human rights — offers a balanced and principled framework for rebuilding trust, safeguarding citizens, and renewing democratic life.

Human Dignity as the Foundation of Rights and Responsibilities

At the core of the centrist vision is the belief that every Filipino possesses inherent human dignity — not conferred by the state, but intrinsic to being human. This dignity forms the moral and legal foundation of all human rights: civil liberties, political participation, and access to essential services such as education, healthcare, and livelihood.

But dignity is more than an entitlement; it is also a responsibility. It calls on individuals not only to claim their own rights but also to respect and uphold the rights of others — in speech, in conduct, and in civic life. The Centrist View affirms that rights and responsibilities are inseparable, and that a just society depends on mutual recognition of each person’s worth.

Human Rights in a Divided Political Landscape

In recent years, human rights in the Philippines have become a flashpoint — celebrated by some as the bedrock of democracy, dismissed by others as a hindrance to order and discipline. The centrist approach resists this false binary.

Instead, it upholds human rights as non-negotiable, especially for the most vulnerable: victims of extrajudicial killings, displaced indigenous communities, and ordinary citizens left behind by corruption and impunity. At the same time, it recognizes the need to contextualize rights within the broader social fabric — considering public safety, poverty, and institutional capacity.

The absolute moral positions of the Church — opposition to abortion, divorce, and same-sex marriage — moral truths which many Filipinos adopt unquestioningly, conflict with human rights discourses or secular principles such as reproductive health, women’s rights, and LGBTQ inclusion. The war on drugs under the Duterte administration was often justified using absolute moral language — portraying drug use as an evil that must be eradicated at all cost. This moral framing enabled EJK and human rights abuses, with limited public resistance due to the perceived moral righteousness of the campaign.

The anti-corruption rhetoric (all corruption is evil) uses moral absolutism (that certain actions are inherently right or wrong regardless of context, consequences, or cultural norms) but the application of justice in the Philippines is frequently selective, exposing the hypocrisy and dangers of absolutism when wielded by those in power. Human rights violations during Martial Law (torture, illegal detentions, censorship) can be judged as morally wrong in absolute terms, regardless of the justifications of national security or economic progress. However, moral relativism is often used to justify or downplay these events, especially by those who benefit from historical revisionism or political dynasties.

The late dictator son’s administration has emphasized technocratic leadership — appointing economic managers, military officials, and political elites into key positions — often sidelining consultative, grassroots-driven policy-making. His seeming focus on stability and economic continuity is reflected in his cabinet choices; still this pragmatic approach is viewed as centralizing authority and downplays participative governance, especially from civil society organizations, marginalized sectors, and opposition voices.

The DepEd and CHED directives to revise or soften the language around martial law abuses reflect a systemic push toward historical revisionism, legitimizing the current administration while erasing past atrocities. In lieu of outright censorship, the present administration uses strategic communication and digital manipulation through troll farms, algorithmic manipulation, and disinformation campaigns, to promote a favorable image. Contrary opinions and criticisms are viewed as “fake news” and attempts to discredit the administration are seen as libelous that merit congressional inquiry, purportedly, in aid of legislation.

The administration exhibits a form of authoritarian pragmatism more subtle than the previous dictatorship but no less concerning in its long-term implications. The challenge for Filipinos today is to critically assess this pragmatism: who benefits, who is silenced, and at what cost is “progress” achieved.

The Centrist View rejects both moral absolutism and authoritarian pragmatism. It seeks to foster a culture in which human rights are not only enshrined in law but also respected in practice, and where governance is accountable, transparent, and humane.

Rebuilding Trust in Institutions and the Rule of Law

The erosion of public trust in the justice system and the prevalence of political patronage have undermined faith in democratic institutions. When laws are applied unequally — when the wealthy and powerful escape accountability while the poor face violence and neglect — human dignity suffers.

A centrist response calls for the revitalization of institutions as a moral imperative:

• A justice system that is impartial, efficient, and accessible to all;
• Security forces that serve the Constitution and the people, not personal or political interests;
• Governance that is participatory, transparent, and responsive — especially to marginalized communities.

Restoring confidence in institutions, in the Centrist View, is not only about efficiency; it is about affirming the dignity of every citizen and the credibility of democracy itself.

Social Justice Without Extremism

Despite economic growth, the Philippines continues to grapple with stark inequality, underdevelopment in rural areas, and persistent conflict in regions such as Mindanao. Politics is downplaying the gains of the Bangsamoro Autonomous region, as changes in policies are manifest in each subsequent administration. These are not just policy failures — they are affronts to human dignity.

The centrist approach to social justice promotes meaningful, targeted reforms:

• Long-term investments in quality education and healthcare as fundamental human rights;
• Genuine land reform and rural development to empower farmers and indigenous peoples;
• Inclusive and decentralized governance, particularly in historically marginalized regions.

Unlike radical ideologies that call for revolution or sweeping overhauls, the Centrist View advocates for gradual, evidence-based reforms that preserve national stability while addressing deep-rooted injustices.

Pluralism and Mutual Respect in a Diverse Nation

The Philippines is a nation of many cultures, faiths, and identities. Respecting human dignity means embracing this diversity, not suppressing it.

The centrist vision affirms that unity can only emerge from mutual respect — not forced conformity.

All Filipinos — regardless of ethnicity, religion, sexual orientation, or social status — have the right to live free from discrimination and violence. Dialogue, rather than dogma, is the foundation of lasting peace and nation-building.

In this spirit, the Centrist View aligns with the universal values of human rights: that every person has the right to live, believe, speak, and participate fully in society — while also contributing to the common good.

Conclusion: A Call for Principled Moderation

The Centrist View in contemporary Philippine society is not a position of passivity or indifference. It is a call for principled moderation — an approach that seeks:

• To place human dignity at the center of policy and public life;
• To uphold human rights not as partisan slogans but as shared moral imperatives;
• To advance nation-building through inclusion, institutional reform, and civic responsibility.

In an age defined by polarization and populism, the Philippines needs a renewed commitment to moral clarity, balanced leadership, and shared humanity. In this vision, human dignity is not merely an abstract ideal — it is a living promise that belongs to every Filipino.