Viva Virgen! Viva la Justicia!

Every September, the streets of Naga overflow with faith. Millions of devotees, many walking barefoot, chant “Viva la Virgen!” as they accompany the image of Our Lady of Peñafrancia in the Traslación and fluvial procession. The sight of almost a million people shoulder to shoulder is one of resilience, sacrifice, and profound devotion—a people entrusting their struggles and hopes to Ina, their beloved Mother. For the Bicolano faithful, especially the marginalized and forsaken, seeking comfort from life’s burdens means turning to INA, the Mother of Jesus, whose compassion embraces the weary and the needy.

I remember my late mother, Eliza, a lifelong devotee. Even at 94, bound to her wheelchair, she kept an altar adorned with images of Ina and greeted her each day with affection, as though speaking to a dear friend. For her, as for millions of Bicolanos, devotion to the Virgin of Peñafrancia was more than ritual; it was a relationship of trust and love. “Viva la Virgen, Viva Divina Nostro!” she would pray, her voice steady with faith. In her frailty, she found strength in Ina—the same strength countless devotees still draw upon each September.

But September is not only a season of devotion. It is also the season of storms. Typhoons, tropical depressions, and floods batter our communities yearly, a cruel rhythm Bicolanos have long learned to endure. The longest religious festivity of the region is thus marked not only by candlelight and prayer but also by the anticipation of heavy rains and swollen rivers. For many, including myself—after being stranded for days because of severe floodings in last year’s Super Typhoon Kristine—the season of devotion is also a season of disaster.

And when floods are mentioned, what comes to mind is not only natural calamity but also man-made betrayal—the revelations of billions wasted in flood-control projects. Even as candles flicker on the waters of the Naga River this fiesta season, another kind of flood haunts Bicol. Not of grace, but of greed. Not of blessing, but of betrayal.

Congressional hearings revealed massive corruption in flood-control funds—with Bicol again at the center. The shame has even reached the rank and file, those good-natured employees who admitted that since the Congressional hearings about corruption in flood control projects, they would see their bosses and some fellow employees shedding their DPWH uniforms in public when going out of their office to avoid ridicule.

In just two years, 2023 and 2024, our region received over ₱61 billion for flood-control works—more than the annual budget of some entire government departments. Yet what has become of these billions? Instead of sturdy dikes and reliable drainage, what remain are substandard structures, unfinished projects, and broken promises. Some collapse even before the next storm arrives, leaving communities exposed. The Department of Public Works and Highways itself admitted that thousands of projects nationwide, worth hundreds of billions, had no clear documentation of what was built, where, or when.

This is not mere inefficiency—it is plunder in the face of poverty. Bicol is one of the poorest regions of the Philippines, battered regularly by typhoons. To rob its people of funds meant for flood protection is to condemn them twice: once to nature’s wrath, and again to human greed.

Water, in Peñafrancia, is sacred. It carries Ina’s image in a sea of lights and prayers during the fluvial procession. It cleanses, renews, and blesses. But in the corruption of flood-control funds, water becomes a curse. It enters our homes uninvited, sweeps away our fields, and erodes our future. The contrast is painful: the very element we raise in prayer is the same element weaponized against us by neglect and greed.

Here lies the great irony. Ordinary Bicolanos give of themselves each September in devotion—sacrificing sleep, enduring crowds, offering prayers of thanksgiving or petition. While barefoot pilgrims walk in penance, public officials walk away with billions, leaving our communities barefoot against floods and poverty.

The Peñafrancia Fiesta is not only about tradition; My religious friend, Teresa insists, it is also about renewal and a call to action. It calls us to cleanse our hearts and recommit to faith and community. Should it not also call us to cleanse our public life of corruption? If millions can chant “Viva la Virgen!” in unison, why can we not also cry “Viva la Justicia! Viva la Katungdanan!”—for justice and accountability in public service?

A government that steals from the poor mocks the very prayers of its people. Sacred waters of blessing are set against floodwaters of neglect; collective sacrifice against individual greed. This year, as we celebrate Peñafrancia, may we not only look heavenward but also around us. Let our devotion not end at the Bicol riverbank, but spill into public life with courage and conviction.

Viva la Virgen! And may we also one day cry, with equal fervor: Viva la Justicia! Viva la Katungdanan!