When Congress investigates corruption, the drama is always high. Lawmakers summon Cabinet officials, grill contractors, and sermonize about good governance. Theatrics aside, the hearings are meant to project accountability.
But a recent privilege speech by Senator Panfilo Lacson exposed what the flood control fund pie really looks like and it’s not flattering to those doing the finger-pointing. His chart showed DPWH at 10%, contractors at 6%, and Politician Proponents, the lawmakers themselves, at a staggering 25%. A quarter of the funds, second only to the cost of actual project implementation.
This is why Rep. Chel Diokno insisted that House infrastructure committee members must disclose any financial, business, or pecuniary interest in the projects they are investigating. As he put it, the public must be assured the inquiry will not be a whitewash.
And it is why Rep. Leila de Lima posed the uncomfortable question: “Is it wise, is it prudent, is it proper for this Chamber to investigate itself, when there are already reports that some members here may be involved in these very projects?” she added, “Conflict of interest here is not theoretical. It is not distant. It is real.”
And there lies the elephant in the hearing room: Congress is both investigator and likely suspect. It’s a courtroom where the judge lectures the accused about theft while hiding the same loot under his robe. The hearings may produce fiery exchanges and juicy headlines, but the credibility of any probe collapses the moment the public realizes the referees may also be players in the very game they’re policing.
Flood control projects are supposed to protect lives and livelihoods. Instead, they have become political currencies, sliced, parked, and traded in backrooms long before the first shovel hits the ground.
Until Congress musters the courage to investigate itself, every corruption probe will remain just that: a spectacle staged by those who stand to lose the most if the curtain is ever pulled back.
