EDITORIAL: Systemic Rot

THE year 2025 may well mark a defining rupture in the country’s long, uneasy relationship with corruption. Not because corruption suddenly appeared—Filipinos have lived with it for decades—but because it finally reached a scale so vast, so destructive, and so visible that denial became impossible.

For years, corruption in public office had been treated as a grim constant, almost an entitlement attached to power. It was rationalized as part of a patronage-driven system, excused by the notion that some benefits eventually trickled down.

Questionable budget insertions were waved through as legislative prerogatives, tolerated so long as they remained within what political actors considered “manageable.”

That balance collapsed in 2025.

The first crack came with the floods. Extreme weather exposed what years of glossy reports and ribbon-cuttings had concealed: flood control systems that were substandard, incomplete, or entirely imaginary.

Billions of pesos—once heralded as proof of decisive governance—translated into crumbling structures or empty riverbanks. What should have protected communities instead revealed the human cost of neglect, overpricing, and outright theft.

The second rupture was greed unchecked by restraint. As siphoning public funds became easier, the scale of corruption ballooned. Kickbacks grew, the number of hands demanding a share multiplied, and soon there was nothing left to skim but entire project budgets.

Ghost projects flourished. Paperwork replaced concrete, audits became shields rather than safeguards, and flood control turned into a preferred pipeline for private enrichment.

The third was political. Congress’ overhaul of the 2025 National Expenditure Program produced a budget so distorted that even the executive disowned it. “Adjustments” and “insertions” reshaped national priorities to fit parochial interests. President Marcos’ rare public rebuke—ending his SONA with “Mahiya naman kayo!”—was striking not just for its tone, but for the uncomfortable truth it acknowledged.

What followed only deepened the crisis. Naming contractors without naming politicians satisfied no one. The digital portal inviting citizens to inspect flood projects appeared reformist, even bold, but it also shifted the burden of accountability to the public.

In the age of social media, however, truth proved difficult to fence in. Beneficial ownership was traced. Political connections surfaced. Accusations escalated. Counter-accusations followed. The result is a government mired in a credibility crisis, unfolding amid economic pressure and simmering public anger.

What sets this moment apart from past scandals—most notably the 2013 PDAF-Napoles affair—is not outrage. Filipinos have never lacked moral indignation. What is different is visibility.

Corruption in 2025 was not abstract or technical; it was concrete, flooded, photographed, and shared. Ordinary citizens could see it, document it, and call it out. Once exposed, it could no longer be quietly absorbed into routine.

This does not mean redemption is near. Changing personalities alone will not dismantle a system built to reward abuse. Elections, while necessary, are not a cure-all. But exposure matters. Sustained public scrutiny matters.

The vigilance shown in 2025—if carried forward—can force reforms that restore boundaries, accountability, and restraint.

Corruption could no longer hide. The harder task now is ensuring that, once exposed, it is not simply allowed to return under a different name.