In the Philippines, congressional investigations are part soap opera, part morality play, and part circus. But the ongoing inquiries into the flood control projects have given us a new genre altogether: hypocrisy as performance art.
Picture this: lawmakers wagging their fingers, lecturing contractors and bureaucrats about bribery, overpricing, and kickbacks. Stirring words, righteous anger, and the promise of reform. Yet sitting on those same dais are men and women who themselves have been accused of pocketing public funds, who have stood trial for plunder, who have faced the Ombudsman or the Sandiganbayan and in some cases, who have even worn the badge of conviction before bouncing back into office as if nothing happened.
It’s like watching a road safety campaign led by notorious drunk drivers.
The irony is delicious, if not depressing. Here we are, flooded year after year by monsoon rains, while lawmakers with pork barrel scandals in their rearview mirror rail against the misuse of infrastructure budgets. We see lawmakers who once had their Priority Development Assistance Funds (PDAF) scrutinized to death, now grilling engineers about “ghost projects.” We see some who have tasted jail time for plunder, only to return triumphantly to the chamber, now thundering about integrity and accountability.
One can almost hear the nation sigh: Mahiya naman kayo.
Make no mistake, flood control projects are notoriously prone to abuse. The budgets are massive, the technicalities opaque, and the results invisible until the waters rise. Billions can be siphoned off in overpricing, substandard materials, or simply in projects that never materialize. These are legitimate concerns. But when the self-proclaimed watchdogs are themselves scarred by corruption scandals, the hearings lose all moral force.
What we get instead is investigative theater. Sound bites rehearsed for prime time, grandstanding in front of cameras, and selective outrage carefully crafted for social media clips. A hearing room filled with crocodiles pretending to weep for the people drowning in floodwater.
What’s even more remarkable is how short the political memory is in this country. A conviction in the anti-graft court? No problem. A stint in detention for plunder? Consider it a sabbatical. A COA report flagging your “anomalous” projects? Just another badge on your barong. So long as one wins the next election, yesterday’s scandal becomes today’s credential. And so the cycle continues: investigators who were once investigated, inquisitors who were once in the dock.
In truth, the flood that threatens us most is not the monsoon rain. It is the deluge of hypocrisy that drowns genuine accountability. Every peso siphoned from flood control projects means another community submerged, another family displaced, another life lost in the torrents. Yet the hearings meant to stop this waste are led by lawmakers whose own reputations are waterlogged with corruption.
A Modest Proposal
Maybe it’s time to impose a new rule: if you’ve ever been indicted for graft, plunder, or bribery, you sit out corruption hearings. Recusal by reputation. Imagine the silence that would descend on the halls of Congress. The hearings would be empty, but at least they would be honest.
Until then, let’s stop pretending. These are not investigations. These are mirrors—where the accusers cannot help but see themselves reflected in the very crimes they denounce.
And the Filipino people? We remain the unwilling audience, forced to watch this spectacle while wading through both floodwaters and farce.
