‘…let’s call it what it is: rain reveals corruption. And corruption reveals who watched the flood control fund get funneled while homes drowned. Expose. Prosecute. And maybe the next storm won’t catch us off guard.’
LET’S face it.
The swamp of corruption is more treacherous than any monsoon, because greed uncontrolled is flooding uncontrolled.
People who spend their days and nights knee-deep in floodwater know this too well. The flood control system upstream is a mirage, borrowed from an imaginary anthology of modern fairy tales, aptly titled Rackets and Schemes.
They know greed is the umbrella that never opens when the rain comes — a politician’s token of appreciation for their vote last May. The same politician who backed the contractor’s bill for concrete that never made it to the site.
They now know that climate change is real, and devastating floods are real. But the greater flood is that of kleptocracy, masquerading as infrastructure.
The president promises to go after the people behind ghost projects with legal firepower. That promise — however belated — may be what keeps the next generation from inheriting a disaster made of storms, corruption, and concrete lies.
President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. has raised his voice — or splashed it — by saying, “Mahiya naman kayo…” (Shame on you) to those draining public funds while citizens sank in murky water — literally.
To call for a full audit of flood control projects completed or undertaken in the last three years is no small feat. It’s a big deal. And these are the words that hit home: a leader who takes climate change seriously won’t get wet as he fixes the leak before the storm.
Still, accountability remains tethered to a longstanding dry spell. If only we could rub that on our soggy morale, alongside the long list of failures, unfinished jobs, and ghost projects that cry out for scrutiny.
But exposing corruption isn’t enough. It must be punished.
Without action, public lists remain paper tigers, and ethics footnotes in a history book no one finishes.
So let’s call it what it is: rain reveals corruption. And corruption reveals who watched the flood control fund get funneled while homes drowned. Expose. Prosecute. And maybe the next storm won’t catch us off guard.
That corruption soaks the public infrastructure is no revelation. What is revealing — and damning — is this: the waters sweeping through homes, highways, and hopes are no longer just acts of nature. They are acts of betrayal.
To focus on this now, at the peak of typhoon season and public exhaustion, is not just necessary — it’s urgent.
Somewhere between the rigged bidding, the padded budgets, and the signature “for the boys’” payoffs, our flood defenses become invitations for disaster.
What should have protected us from flood became a pipeline for illicit gain.
The government must intervene. It has the power to curb inflation, stop smuggling, decarbonize the economy, and regulate devaluation. It also has the moral obligation to step in when avarice rots the core of public service. Because control is key — and greed control is flood control.
A leader who reforms in good faith is sunshine in the pouring rain. He holds the power to offset a stained legacy. History doesn’t need rewriting. He just needs to follow the path where the moral compass already points.
