SINCE the 1986 restoration of democracy, upon the adoption of the 1987 Constitution, the Office of the Ombudsman was created to be the Philippines’ chief institution against graft and abuse of power. From Conrado Vasquez (appointed by Cory, 1988-1995), the first ombudsman who built its foundations, to Aniano Desierto (Ramos, 1995-2002) accused of “selective justice,” to Simeon Marcelo (Arroyo, 2002-2005) whose relentless prosecution secured Estrada’s plunder conviction, the ombudsman’s role has often reflected the political climate. Merceditas Gutierrez (Arroyo, 2005-2011) resigned amid impeachment threats for inaction on scandals, while Conchita Carpio-Morales (Aquino III, 2011-2018) reinvigorated the office with aggressive corruption prosecutions, notably the PDAF scam. Samuel Martires (Duterte, 2018-2025) drew criticism for restricting access to officials’ SALNs, curbing transparency, effectively neutering one of the sharpest weapons of public scrutiny.

Ombudsman – pillar of the rule of law

Remulla’s appointment was not a surprise. It was, in fact, anticipated. His adversaries tried twice to derail him: first, through a complaint of kidnapping former president Duterte, a complaint with Sen. Imee Marcos’s handprints all over; then, through another harassment maneuver in Congress by Pulong Duterte, Duterte’s son. Both fizzled out.

The Dutertes, ever the realists in political combat, read the terrain correctly: Remulla at the helm of the Ombudsman meant that the vault doors of the Anti-Money Laundering Council (AMLC) could be pried open. And once opened, the paper trail of joint family bank accounts — Sara, Paolo, Baste, surrogate son Bong Go, and former President Duterte himself — would be exposed to the unforgiving light of SALN verification.

Thus, the efforts to block Boying were less about principle than about fear. Fear that the money trail can no longer be concealed. Fear that the ombudsman, armed with AMLC records, could finally turn the narrative of accountability back on those who once wielded it as a weapon.

The power few understand

The scale of the ombudsman’s power is tremendous. Unlike most appointees, he enjoys a fixed seven-year term and can only be removed by impeachment — an institutional lock matched only by the presidency itself. He is not subject to presidential control, enjoys fiscal autonomy, and commands disciplinary authority over nearly the entire bureaucracy. He can suspend or dismiss officials, investigate on his own initiative (motu proprio), act on complaints, even anonymous ones, and file criminal cases before the Sandiganbayan with his own army of prosecutors. In short, he is the ultimate “verdugo!”

Former justice Antonio Carpio described it as “the most powerful office after the presidency.” The ombudsman’s reach is vast, its independence constitutionally enshrined, and its potential, if wielded with courage, revolutionary.

Marcos and Duterte – the politics of selectivity

The key question is who are Remulla’s targets. Cynics already whisper that the ombudsman will become the instrument by which the Dutertes are to be sidelined. The calculus is simple: the Duterte name is still potent, Vice President Sara is a rival for 2028, and her family’s finances are fertile ground for investigation. If AMLC records reveal discrepancies against the SALNs, then the ombudsman can do what impeachment complaints alone cannot: build a prosecutable case for removal or, at the very least, disqualify Sara from 2028. Shades of the Corona playbook.

Here lies the trap. If Remulla limits his crusade to the Dutertes and spares the Marcos allies, he will fall into the pitfall of selective prosecution. Credibility will evaporate. Worse, the institution he now embodies will again be weaponized as a partisan cudgel rather than a neutral arbiter of justice.

Will Remulla dare to extend his reach beyond expediency? Will he investigate the Marcos loyalists who quietly and illegally inserted pork into the budget? The entrenched dynasties fattened by flood control contracts? His Upsilon fraternity acolyte, Martin Romualdez? Boying was once “Tatang – the Bossman” in 1985. Only by pursuing all camps — even his own — can he restore faith in the office.

Senate’s collapse and ICI’s dilemma

All this unfolds against the backdrop of the Senate’s embarrassing implosion over the flood control scandal. Sen. Panfilo Lacson, armed with documents on billions in dubious insertions, was forced to resign as Blue Ribbon Committee chairman lest his investigation trigger a coup. One by one, senators refused to touch the Blue Ribbon Committee leadership. The Senate, caught investigating itself, collapsed into paralysis; as the Lower House had done earlier. “Corrupti corruptos investigare non possunt!”

This vacuum birthed the Independent Commission for Infrastructure (ICI), a body meant to channel public outrage into investigation. Yet the ICI too has disappointed: secretive, opaque, reluctant to bare its work, as revealed by Mayor Benjie Magalong, erstwhile consultant/investigator. In theory, the ICI is recommendatory, its findings feeding into the Office of the Ombudsman. In practice, it has become another layer of bureaucracy, vulnerable to suspicion. I expect resignations soon.

Here lies an irony. If Remulla proves effective, the ICI may become redundant. If he falters, the ICI’s secrecy ensures it will not fill the gap. Either way, only the ombudsman has the legal teeth to file cases. The rest is political theater.

Citizens at the ramparts

What, then, is to be done? The ombudsman’s independence, while real, cannot be left to the conscience of one man. Civil society must keep watch. As Carpio insists, “trust but verify.” But beyond vigilance lies action.

A broad coalition is now mobilizing to push for people’s initiative (PI) measures: an anti-political dynasty law, a freedom of information act (FOI), and civil society participation in infrastructure bidding. These reforms target the bloodstream of corruption itself. Dynasties perpetuate their power through pork barrel insertions; ghost projects thrive when bidding is opaque; secrecy breeds impunity. By institutionalizing transparency and limiting dynasties, citizens can cut off the oxygen that fuels corruption.

PI will not be easy. Twelve percent of voters nationwide, with three percent in each district must sign on. The work is colossal. But it is precisely in these civic exercises that the antidote to elite impunity is found. Youth and students are being mobilized, echoing the spirit of EDSA yet adapted to the digital age.

The moment of truth

Today, under Boying Remulla the office again stands at a crossroads — its independence and credibility shaped as much by law as by the politics of the moment. His conundrum: he wields the powers of righteousness, the expectations of a weary public, and the suspicion of those who see only political vendetta. His choices will shape not only the fate of the Dutertes, the credibility of the Marcos presidency itself, but more importantly the fate of the country in the years to come. If he prosecutes across factions, he can reestablish the ombudsman as the republic’s sentinel of integrity. And he will be a shoo-in for any position in 2028!

Meantime, the people must do their part. As we speak, the Marangal and Pilipino Movement, co-led by women and along with multitudes in the civil society have invoked the people’s right to anger at the impunity; use the streets as the venue for vigilance and protests — nonviolent, but always with the threat thereof.

For in the end, institutions only live when citizens defend them. The ombudsman’s moment of truth is not his alone — it is ours.

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 specter of the new millennium, insidiously hovering above us, does not inspire much confidence. Every political nook and cranny is abuzz with talk of change—calls for reforms in governance, the electoral system, social and economic structures, and a bureaucratic overhaul seem to be the order of the day. Yet, we falter. We hesitate. We bury ourselves in the details of trivial matters, occupying ourselves with the frivolous and anything that can distract us. We attempt to cocoon ourselves, clinging to a stubborn preference for the dull and the ordinary. But the reality of the inevitable is right in front of us. There is no escape. We must face what must be faced—otherwise, we perish.

Democratic deficits at every level are like dirty, giant worms devouring the country from within. Remember—they are worms: emotionless and blind. Scientifically, worms are soft-bodied, legless invertebrates with long, slender forms, thriving in various environments—soil, freshwater, and saltwater. In computing terms, a worm is a kind of virus. Ironically, these “worms” in our country wear coats and ties, ride luxurious cars—fantasies to millions—and crawl through society in the dead of night, while we sleep in ignorance and passivity.

A lack of transparency and accountability, the persistence of patronage politics, plundering by the oligarchy, detached technocratic decision-making, insufficient public participation, and a political system that serves only the wealthy and influential—these are the hallmarks of our situation.
It is no wonder that, nearly every day, we witness restless citizens joining massive protests, flooding the streets with questions: Why do only the small fry face justice, while those accused of major corruption remain free? Whispers abound about People Power 4, 5, or 6, and even the return of martial law. The majority hang by a thread, running out of patience.

A storm is brewing—not the kind triggered by a low-pressure area—but one born of a burnt-out citizenry, impatient for results: the incarceration of “big fish” politicians, the dismantling of the “crocodiles” in Congress and the Senate, liberation from abject poverty, and deliverance from police ineptitude and corruption. Yet, for all our talk, it remains just that: talk. And it’s all threatening to erupt in our faces.

Should we simply live and let live? Persist in apathy and indifference, living up to our reputation as the “sick man” of Asia? Or are we waiting to hit rock bottom, hoping that only then will we finally decide to change direction? If we are driven mad by these maladies afflicting our country, we know the blame cannot be cast elsewhere.
Change—or whatever it is we hold sacred as our deliverance—begins with each one of us. As George Bernard Shaw once said, “Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.”

Change is, indeed, a much-abused word. Nearly every administration has wielded it as a slogan. But now, what must be done? First, we must all acknowledge that the system is broken, calling for comprehensive reform in our politics and bureaucracy. Second, we must recognize and address poverty, for without tackling it, any institutional reforms will be futile.

We are free to choose, but we are not free from the consequences of our choices. Is change really coming? One can only sigh. And what change are we talking about? I doubt anything will happen if all we do is talk.