Author Archives: M.A.D. LIGAYA
My Priceless Takeaway From My Korean Class
Our KIIP Korean Language Level 1 class has finally reached the end of its grueling 101-hour journey. It was a struggle for me, but never a burden — because every hour taught me something worth keeping. Korean phonetics are no longer arrows piercing my eardrums but musical notes finding their way into my heart and soul.
More importantly, the experience placed me in a better position to understand the plight of language learners. It made me see — and feel — what my ESL /EFL students go through, especially those whose English proficiency remains low.
I felt it the most when I was asked to read aloud. I stammered again and again, unsure whether the graphemes I produced truly matched the phonemes staring back at me. At times, it felt as though the Korean letters were mocking me. I was humbled each time I failed to answer questions during speaking tasks, and in those moments, the contorted faces and furrowed brows of my own students resurfaced vividly in my mind — the very expressions they wore whenever I suddenly called on them to participate in class.
In the end, more than anything I learned about the Korean language itself, it is this deeper understanding of what it means — and what it feels like — to be a language learner that I consider my most priceless takeaway from this course.
The More Painful Injustice
ICC’s decision denying former President Rodrigo Duterte’s request for interim release elicited different reactions. As expected, his supporters grieved; his critics rejoiced. Social media erupted. Commentaries burst like fireworks. Lawyers, influencers, and armchair experts all rushed forward with their own interpretations and opinions.
But buried beneath this noise is a truth many refuse to acknowledge: the corruption allegations against the sitting political powers remain unresolved, uninvestigated, and—most damning—protected.
And yes, we should not disregard the corruption committed by previous administrations as well.
At this juncture, we must confront the question everyone keeps tiptoeing around:
If extrajudicial killings can be considered a crime against humanity, what then do we call the corruption allegedly committed by officials of the incumbent government—corruption so massive it starved hospitals, crippled schools, and robbed the poorest Filipinos of the help they desperately needed?
What do we call leaders who tolerated the theft, shielded the thieves, and—worst of all—turned out to be thieves themselves?
Which is the greater sin: the murder of a few thousand, or the plunder of billions?
Who committed the graver crime: the fingers that pulled the trigger, or the hands that emptied the nation’s coffers?
The corruption committed by those in power—whether yesterday or today—is not petty, not the old excuse of “traditional politics,” and not the sanitized label of a “budget anomaly.”
This is plunder disguised as governance.
Billions meant for healthcare vanished while patients slept on floors, dying without medicine.
Billions meant for classrooms disappeared while children learned beneath leaking roofs.
Billions meant for poverty alleviation were used by the corrupt officials to fatten their bank accounts.
Every peso stolen by those in power translates to: a child who goes hungry, a mother who dies untreated, a worker whose future evaporates, a community trapped in poverty, a family whose hope is extinguished.
We must stop pretending corruption is merely a financial crime.
It is a human rights violation with casualties, as real and as tragic as any body found in an alley.
The painful irony?
One man faces the hostile ICC for killings.
But the many government officials accused of stealing the nation’s lifeblood face the friendly ICI who might possibly give them a simple slap on the wrist.
The ICC cannot touch them — and that is their shield under the Rome Statute, the ICC only prosecutes:
genocide
crimes against humanity
war crimes
aggression
Corruption—no matter how destructive—does not qualify.
The ICC can examine killings linked to a past administration.
But the alleged plunder committed under the current administration is untouchable.
They are shielded not by innocence, but by the ICC’s jurisdiction.
They know it.
Their lawyers know it.
Their political allies know it.
This is why they look unbothered.
This is why they speak as if justice is optional.
Because for corruption, under international law,
The Hague has no handcuffs.
But viewed through the lens of the United Nations Convention Against Corruption (UNCAC), the crime committed by corrupt members of the Executive and Legislative branches of the Philippine government remains evident.
The Philippines is bound by the United Nations Convention Against Corruption (UNCAC).
Under UNCAC, corruption is not merely illegal. It is seen as a violation of human dignity.
Corruption becomes a human rights offense when it deprives citizens of healthcare, destroys education systems, blocks justice through political interference, deepens poverty, and kills through neglect and substandard infrastructure.
Every bridge that collapses because of corruption, every medicine that never reaches a dying patient, every student robbed of a proper education—these are casualties of today’s corruption.
UN bodies cannot jail individual senators, cabinet members, or presidents. But they can expose a government’s failures. They can embarrass a nation on the global stage. They can pressure for reforms and sanctions. They can help freeze stolen assets hidden abroad. And they can force the world to see what our own institutions refuse to confront.
And in the quiet between outrage and applause, a single question remains: Whose crime weighs heavier on the nation’s soul?
Let us stop pretending this is a simple comparison.
Duterte is being investigated for the bodies we saw. But incumbent officials are being accused of crimes whose victims we don’t always see— because the victims are the millions who are slowly suffocating from poverty, hunger, broken hospitals, broken schools, and broken futures.
A bullet kills instantly.
Corruption kills invisibly.
But the graves are real.
Sometimes, corruption is the quieter executioner.
The true tragedy is not that the ICC is pursuing Duterte.
The tragedy is that the officials accused of bleeding the nation dry will never stand before The Hague, never sit behind glass in an international courtroom, never be held criminally accountable in the same way.
They will sleep soundly knowing that international law cannot touch them—not because they are innocent, but because their crimes fall outside the narrow definition of “crimes against humanity.”
They are safe. Not because they are righteous.
But because corruption is not in the ICC’s vocabulary.
And that is the Philippines’ most painful injustice.
If The Philippines Were A House
(When the pillars of democracy are broken…)
For years, I stayed away from political writing. The arena felt toxic, exhausting, and at odds with the culture of positivity I’ve been promoting through my self-improvement advocacy. I even avoided crafting satirical poems that confronted human folly through anthropomorphism. But silence eventually stops being a restraint; it becomes complicity. And seeing what my country has been going through, I knew I couldn’t stay silent any longer.
And so, in recent months, I have been writing about the socio-political upheavals in the Philippines, sharing my thoughts on social media and on my website (madligaya.com). The responses flooded in, and as I replied to them, I realized that I had inadvertently answered two painful questions haunting many Filipinos today:
“Is the Philippines really a democracy? ”
and
“Why is the Philippines down on her knees? ”
In my most recent commentary, I asked why religious and civic organizations are inconsistent in their call for accountability. They demand action yet refuse to urge officials to step down. Don’t tell me they don’t know who is most responsible for the biggest daylight robbery of the national coffers—who orchestrated it, who consented to it, and who deliberately turned a blind eye as it happened. And certainly don’t tell me they don’t understand why, when one of those who colluded realized their scheme was about to explode in their faces, he suddenly played both Judas and Pilate—betraying the plot, then washing his hands as if he were never part of it. Only those born yesterday would fail to see that this is exactly what happened.
A friend argued that these organizations actually know the truth. Their dilemma, he said, is that they are choosing between what they perceive as a “weak” leadership and an alleged “power-hungry, iron-handed” leadership waiting in the wings.
I retorted, “By avoiding what they view as the ‘greater evil’ and the ‘lesser evil,’ they end up protecting both.”
The next part of my extended response to his comments led to the answer to the following question:
“Is the Philippines really a democracy? ”
Let me put it bluntly. The leader some people call “weak” is not weak. He is held firmly by the same oligarchs that the previous “iron-handed” president pushed out. Now that these oligarchs have reclaimed power, they will stop at nothing to keep their puppet in place. Power and wealth are their only ideology.
This is the tragedy: the Philippines is not functioning as a democracy. It is ruled by an oligarchy. Many Filipinos fail to see it—or choose not to. Religious and civic groups are not independent moral voices; many are influenced, funded, or even controlled by the same oligarchs.
These oligarchs (and their allies) are firmly embedded (either directly or by proxy) in all three branches of government—the Executive, Legislative, and Judiciary. They took turns in holding the reins of government.
Even our media, the so-called Fourth Estate, is owned by the oligarchs.
So who stands with the ordinary Filipino?
No one.
This provides an answer to the question, “Why is the Philippines down on her knees?”
Answer: The pillars of our democracy have already collapsed.
Ang mga haligi ng ating demokrasya ay giba na.
If the Philippines were a house, it would be crumbling—if not already in shambles.
Since only God knows when, members of the Executive and Legislative branches have been interested only in one thing: the cake—the national budget—and how to divide it among themselves. I cannot help but wonder how much of the money borrowed by past and present administrations truly benefited Filipinos… and how much went to fattening personal bank accounts.
My friend also pointed out that the 1987 Constitution was crafted by academicians, technocrats, and legal minds from wealthy and influential sectors—people who were once powerless under the dictator at that time, but who seized the opportunity after 1986 to control the government and its resources for their own interests.
To this, I replied:
“…and they were displaced when their bets in 2016 and 2022 lost. But when the person you call the ‘weak’ leader won in 2022, they realized they could manipulate him. That put them back in power. They will do everything to keep him in power and stop those who beat them in 2016 from coming back. Why? Because they would lose their grip on both power and the nation’s coffers.”
That is the real picture. Filipinos are sandwiched between the same old political forces that care not about nation-building but about controlling both power and purse.
Kahabag-habag ka, Juan! Kanino ka tatakbo?
Supreme Court? They had the chance to stop the 2025 National Budget fiasco. They were warned. What did they do? NOTHING. In one of my previous articles, I wrote this:
“The judicial branch of the government has constitutional authority to review actions of the legislative and executive branches, including the passage and implementation of the national budget, if these acts violate the Constitution. The Supreme Court had the opportunity to halt the implementation of a budget tainted by secrecy and excess. How? By issuing a temporary restraining order (TRO). They did not (am I right?). Instead, it looked away.”
Judicial silence, in times of moral crisis, is complicity dressed in robes.
The pillars of democracy have already collapsed—and not quietly. The Executive has been seized by oligarchs who pull the strings behind the curtains. The Legislature has turned its power into a marketplace, where national budgets are bartered like goods at an auction. The judiciary, which should have stood as the last upright pillar, now wavers at the very moments when justice demands a spine. Even the media, the so-called Fourth Estate, has been absorbed into the same circle of power, choosing survival over truth. What remains are not pillars, but ruins—and in those ruins, Juan is expected to believe he still lives in a functioning house.
This is not to say that every public servant, judge, legislator, soldier, or religious leader is corrupt. There are still individuals within these institutions who strive to uphold integrity, who resist the pressure to bow to oligarchic interests, and who try—quietly or courageously—to do what is right. But they are outnumbered, outpowered, and often sidelined. In a system where loyalty is rewarded more than honesty, the righteous become the exception, not the rule.
What about the military? What are they doing? Singing “Silent Night” hoping that bonuses are on their way for the Yuletide.
My friend argued, “The military cannot intervene lest they be accused of forming a fascist, Myanmar-style government, which armed leftists and Islamic secessionists would use as an excuse to return to the conflicts of the 60s and 70s.”
To this, I simply replied:
“Their silence is not neutrality. It is consent.”
Wala ka talagang matatakbuhan, Juan.
The church? You must be joking if you think it remains a refuge. Even the devil can wear a habit and hide behind a crucifix.
Kaya, Juan, dumiretso ka na lang sa Panginoon.
At ang iyong ikapu—gamitin mo na lang dagdag sa budget ng pamilya. Ibili mo na lang ng bigas.
And if Juan turns to the institutions outside government, he finds no refuge there either. The military, which should stand as the nation’s shield, has chosen the safety of silence over the burden of service. They watch the house collapse from the barracks, humming neutrality like a lullaby, even when neutrality has become another form of consent. The churches, meanwhile, have grown timid, compromised by political alliances and oligarchic benefactors. Many pulpits now echo carefully measured sermons—loud on morality, silent on injustice. Even the guardians of faith have learned to kneel before power, leaving Juan with no shepherds, only silhouettes wearing cassocks and collars.
The pillars of democracy are broken. Juan’s house has collapsed, and he is helplessly trapped.
At this point, Juan must understand the painful truth: no hero is coming. Not from Malacañang. Not from Congress. Not from the Supreme Court. Not from the barracks. Not from the pulpit. Not from the editors’ desks. The institutions meant to protect him now protect only themselves. And when a nation’s protectors abandon their duty, the people have only two choices — endure the injustice or confront it.
But if Juan remains silent, then he becomes exactly what the oligarchs expect him to be: obedient, afraid, and easy to rule. Democracy survives only when its citizens refuse to kneel. If the Philippines were a house, the pillars may be collapsing—but Juan still decides whether to rebuild or to live forever in the ruins.
The Selective Outrage of Religious and Civic Groups
(When the call for accountability becomes political caution.)
What we are witnessing today is selective outrage. Many religious and civic groups are calling for accountability — loudly, passionately, and repeatedly — yet they refuse to demand the resignation of those who are most accountable for the worst corruption in our nation’s history. Their narratives are carefully stitched, their statements meticulously shaped, but the inconsistency is glaring: they speak of justice, but spare the powerful.
This contradiction raises uncomfortable questions:
Are they playing it safe?
Are they playing politics?
Or has something — influence, pressure, or convenience — convinced them to hold their tongues when saying something against THE MOST ACCOUNTABLE?
It is difficult to ignore the sense that these groups are protecting something—their own interests. If these groups openly call for the resignation of those most guilty, it could jeopardize their influence, privileges, and institutional relationships. And so they walk a delicate line: they must say something to satisfy public pressure, yet avoid saying too much that might offend the powerful. What results is not moral courage but strategic caution—statements crafted to look principled while remaining politically safe.
Silence, especially from those who claim moral authority, is never neutral. It is a position. And in moments when the truth demands courage, silence becomes a signal — not of restraint, but of reluctance.
If accountability is truly a principle worth defending, then it must be applied consistently, not selectively.
It cannot be demanded from the powerless while the powerful are spared.
It cannot be preached from the pulpit and abandoned in the public square… or when expressed in public square, conflicting signals are sent.
And it cannot depend on whether the truth is comfortable, fashionable, or convenient.
Religious and civic leaders wield influence that shapes the nation’s conscience. That influence comes with a responsibility: to speak when it matters, and to stand even when standing is difficult.
A call for accountability that avoids those most responsible is not a call for justice.
It is a call filtered, softened, and restrained — a call afraid of its own purpose.
The public deserves clarity.
The nation deserves sincerity.
And leadership — especially moral leadership — deserves consistency.
Native Speaker…ism
A couple of weeks ago, I was at our university’s English lounge when a colleague from a native-speaking country, who was chatting with one of our Korean students, suddenly called my attention. He said he just wanted to confirm that I was from a country where English is not the native language. I responded in the affirmative, and he went on to mention some of my countrymen who are also part of our university’s foreign faculty. He then reiterated to the student that English is only a second language to us Filipinos.
At that moment, I felt uncomfortable. Was this another case of native speakerism? Was this yet another instance where someone implied that the native variety of English is inherently superior, while the English spoken by non-native speakers is somehow lesser? Was he indirectly suggesting that he was a better English teacher than I am, simply because he happens to be a native speaker?
I was tempted to approach the table where they were conversing, but I held my horses. I inhaled, then exhaled—flooding my brain with the oxygen that, according to positive psychology experts, is often lacking in the gray matter between one’s ears when negative emotions, such as anger informed by patriotism, begin to rise. I did it one more time: I inhaled (counting one, two, three, four) and exhaled (counting one, two, three, four) again.
But it wasn’t working. While my arteries were busy transporting oxygen to my skull, the floodgates of my hippocampus seemed to open, reminding me of an unfortunate experience last summer. The Immigration officers had denied my request to teach at an English camp simply because I was not from any of the seven native English-speaking countries. Despite my explaining that I was already teaching English at a university in South Korea—and that my university had authorized me to teach at that camp—they stood firm on their decision. Their reasoning was that only native speakers could teach there. I wanted to ask why Immigration would allow me to teach English at a university but not at a small English camp. It seemed illogical and unreasonable. However, I decided to move on, considering it a learning experience and choosing not to jeopardize my future interactions with the officers I would eventually encounter again for my contract renewal.
I took another deep breath, this time with my eyes closed. In the darkness, I imagined two figures whispering into my ears—one with horns and a pitchfork, urging me to confront my colleague and demand why he needed to stress that English is merely a second language to Filipinos; and the other with beautiful wings and a gleaming sword, gently reminding me that I didn’t know the full context of their conversation and that perhaps he meant no harm.
I suppose I had taken in just enough oxygen for the “Andres Bonifacio” in me to yield to the “Jose Rizal.” I heeded the whisper of the one with the sword.
I slipped on my earphones, shutting myself off from the rest of their conversation. I would rather not have anything more to do with it.
Since then, every time I see that colleague, the memory of that encounter still crosses my mind, but I shrug it off, knowing that one day I’ll forget it altogether.
Then, two days ago, I received a text message while working out at the gym. A reliable source informed me that our university has released the results of this year’s faculty evaluation for foreign faculty members. Three Filipinos landed the top spots—first, second, and third. I recalled that last year (and almost every year I can remember), Filipinos were consistently among the top-performing foreign English teachers at our university.
Now, I’ll leave it to you to draw the moral of this story.
Pro-politico or Pro-Filipino?
A Personal Stand
While I was enjoying the Chuseok celebrations here in South Korea, I received two calls on two separate days asking if I could join the “meet-and-greet a politico” at the end of this month at the Philippine Embassy here. I politely declined.
Before extending the invitation, I was first asked about my political sentiments. I candidly said I don’t like to meet any politicos nowadays – not Marcos, nor Duterte, nor any of those pretending to be public servants “pero mandarambong pala.” They are all responsible for the sufferings of the Filipino people. Only those who were born yesterday, blind, and naïve would not acknowledge this. They are ALL guilty and should be held accountable. I’m giving the benefit of the doubt to the neophytes in Congress (who did not serve in the 19th Congress) and new members of the Cabinet.
I told those people who invited me that I have decided not to support any political personality. Amidst all the political turmoil and government dysfunction, I would like to take not a “pro-politico, ” but a “pro-Filipino” stance. Attending that gathering is tantamount to turning a blind eye to their wrongdoings.
Actually, I coined an expression that is very appropriate for those guilty of plunder and malversation of public funds… “BUWAYANG INA N’YO.” I am afraid I might blurt this out when I see a politico nowadays. Just imagine if I were to hurl this invective in the face of one in that gathering.
Half-jokingly, I said I hope my passport will not be revoked because of my political beliefs.
The Semantics of Corruption
I offer no apologies for using the word ‘politico’ (instead of ‘politician’) in the title. The word is considered derogatory, yet it is the most appropriate way to describe most elected (and appointed) members of the legislative and executive branches of our government.
An online dictionary says, “You can describe a politician as a politico, especially if you do not like them or approve of what they do.” Let me ask you, “Do you approve of what those people in the government do?” Another online dictionary defines ‘politico’ this way: “someone who will do anything to win an election.” The worst example of “will do anything” is “vote buying.” Are the politicos you are supporting not guilty of this? Chat GPT puts its best: “Politico suggests a type of politician – often one driven by ambition, opportunism, or self-interest.”
How I hate “Grammarly” for insisting that I use “politician” instead of “politico.” The algorithm must not know that “politician” is too kind a word for our breed of thieves in barongs.
It fails to grasp that “politico” carries the stench of corruption that “politician” politely hides.
And please, let’s stop addressing them as honorable. They don’t deserve it. They are very much the opposite of that word. “Puwede bang ituring na kagalang-galang ang mga dorobo?”
So, I ask you: Are you pro-politico or pro-Filipino?
The Nation Plundered
The politicos are slowly destroying our nation. They will continue to do so unless we take action. Through the years, they have systematically plundered the nation’s coffers. What were once mere allegations are now supported by emerging evidence, showing that members of both the legislative and executive branches have been dividing the national budget among themselves like a cake. Each takes a slice, along with the icing, leaving only crumbs for the Filipino people.
The greater tragedy is that the Filipino electorate continues to vote for the same politicos. Voters in the Philippines often elect members of the same political clans, as if nobody else is capable of leading the country but those from their own clan.
And what have we gained from voting for them? Did our nation prosper under their leadership? Did voting for them put food on your tables or roofs over your heads?
The Filipino people themselves put the reins of government in the hands of a small group of individuals —the political clans in the Philippines. They are the politicos controlling our nation, its organizations, and institutions.
You may disagree with it, but the Philippines is actually not a democracy, but an oligarchy. The government is run, either directly or indirectly, by the country’s oligarchs, who are also politicos.
The Silence of Institutions
And do you think these oligarch-politicos will ever be convicted of plunder and malversation of public funds? Well, hope springs eternal. But the way I see it, “mga dilis lang at bangus ang huhulihin; iyong mga pating at balyena ay pakakawalan.”
Where was the Supreme Court amidst all the brouhahas? Gentlemen and ladies in robes, “Hindi po kayo safe.” I am not a lawyer (and please correct me if I am wrong), but the judicial branch of the government has constitutional authority to review actions of the legislative and executive branches, including the passage and implementation of the national budget, if these acts violate the Constitution.
The Supreme Court had a chance to stop the bleeding — to halt the implementation of a budget marred by secrecy and excess. How? By issuing a temporary restraining order (TRO). They did not (am I right?). Instead, it looked away.
Judicial silence, in times of moral crisis, is complicity dressed in robes.
Was that judicial restraint, political caution, or internal division? Whatever the case, the result was the same: the budget proceeded while constitutional questions lingered unanswered.
The Fourth Estate, Bought and Sold
“Paano na? Kanino tayo tatakbo ngayon?” The nation is plundered by the members of the executive and legislative branches of government, and the judiciary is doing nothing. Can we run to the Fourth Estate, the fourth pillar of our democracy – the press or mass media? Unfortunately, NO! Search for the meaning of “envelope journalism” and you’ll know why I said so.
The media moguls, who are often oligarchs themselves, are businessmen. The media is intended to safeguard the truth and hold power accountable. But when it sells its soul to the highest bidder, it ceases to be the people’s voice and becomes the regime’s echo.
That’s how grave our situation has become in the Philippines. The legislative and executive branches plunder the nation’s wealth with impunity, while the judiciary looks away, pretending blindness in the face of daylight robbery. The fourth estate, once the voice of truth, now speaks in the language of those who can afford to pay for silence. In a nation where justice sleeps and journalism is bought, who then speaks for the Filipino?
The People’s Guilt
Can the Filipinos rely on themselves?
The answer is very disheartening. Filipinos throw mud at the very politicos they helped elect. They fail to see that they, too, have benefited from the money stolen from the nation’s coffers through the cash handed to them during election season. By accepting that money, they become accomplices. Their hands are as dirty as the politicos they condemn.
Were you born yesterday? Are you blind? Are you naive?
Those born yesterday are the ones who do not understand the concept of “command responsibility.” Those who are blind cannot see that the politicos have been siphoning money from the national coffers to their personal bank accounts. Those who are naive pretend not to know that even the politicos they support are guilty of plunder and malversation of public funds.
It’s time to remove the blindfold—and see our nation for what it has become, and how much the politicos have destroyed it.
As a nation, we have a decision to make. “Patuloy ba tayong magpapagamit at magpapauto sa mga tulisang pulitiko?
The Call to Conscience
We, the Filipino people, are the salvation of our nation. If these “buwayang inang” politicos will not heed the call for them all to resign, at the very least, let’s not vote for them in the next election. Let’s remove the oligarchs from the political landscape. Let them enrich themselves through their legitimate businesses, not through our national budget.
Perhaps it is time we stopped pledging allegiance to politicos and started standing for the people, for the Filipinos, for the Philippines. For once in your life, abandon the political personalities you are supporting until you have proven beyond a reasonable doubt that they are not guilty of plunder and malversation of public funds.
To be pro-Filipino is to reject the culture of impunity that thrives in envelopes, offices, and chambers of power. It is believed that love for country begins not in applause for politicos, but in outrage against their deceit.
For the soul of our nation, silence is no longer an option.
What Now, Philippines?
Yesterday, I spoke with a friend here in South Korea, and we discussed the situation in our country. She was as gravely disappointed and angry as I was (just like the millions of our countrymen back home) by the blatant plunder of our national coffers. The story of the flood control program, a tragi-comedy, has taken many twists and turns, and the plot continues to thicken.
We agreed that it was right for the South Korean government to halt its P28-billion loan to the Philippines amid corruption concerns. I added that no financial institution anywhere in the world should lend to the Philippine government until those who stole from the nation’s coffers are brought to justice—and a transparent, foolproof system of government spending is implemented. Mga kapalmuks kayo, mangungutang tapos paghahati-hatian lang ninyo.
We disagreed as to who should be blamed for the flood control project scam. According to her, by virtue of command responsibility, the President is most guilty. She considers it improbable that the Chief Executive did not know about the wrongdoings of his alter egos from the very beginning. Why did it take him three years to expose the corruption happening right under his nose? His duty is supposedly to prevent such corruption practices from happening under his watch. Did he only discover the substandard and ghost flood control projects this year? And why did he exclude himself from blame when he said, “Mahiya naman kayo” during his SONA a couple of months ago? That should have been “Mahiya naman tayo.”
And if these demonic acts of plunder also occurred during the times of Presidents Duterte, Aquino (Noynoy), Arroyo, Estrada, Ramos, and Aquino (Cory), then all of them should be held accountable as well. “Mahiya naman kayong lahat.”
I told her that blaming the President is correct. Still, half of the blame should be borne by the Filipino electorate who voted for those greedy politicians, fattening themselves like pigs in the supposedly august halls of Congress, now nothing more than a stinking sty of corruption.
We deserve the leaders we elect. There are many Filipinos who are very angry with what the politicians are doing, not realizing that they should be partly to blame for what is happening because they voted for those corrupt leaders. The truth is “Nakakahiya tayong lahat.”
Suppose we are genuinely seeking accountability and transparency. Why is nobody suggesting that the yearly National Budget from the time of Cory Aquino (1986) to Marcos (2025) be scrutinized and checked to see how the budget of DPWH (and other government agencies) was allocated each year? It is not only the records of the budget of the DPWH that should be scrutinized but all the departments of the Executive branch. The records will definitely show who, among the Senators and Congressmen (past and present), made “insertions.” A thorough investigation and accounting should be made to determine who among the members of the Executive and Legislative branches of government, past and present, colluded to plunder the nation’s coffers. The truth is written in all those documents.
We also agreed that the Philippine government, as presently constituted, has lost its credibility to govern. Which branch of government is trustworthy now? The Executive or the Legislative branch?
That is for you (the readers) to answer. But as far as I and the friend I talked to yesterday are concerned, it’s scary to entrust the future of our nation to anybody from Malacañang, the House of Representatives, and the Senate.
What about the Judiciary? Can the Filipino people trust our Justices? Did they perform their solemn duty to intervene and restore constitutional order when they were flooded with petitions challenging the constitutionality of the 2025 General Appropriations Act (GAA)? What happened to their hearings? Did they do something to prevent the kleptomaniacs from dipping their hands into jars of people’s money? None that I could recall (and please correct me if I am wrong).
If none of the three branches of government could be unequivocally trustworthy, what about the fourth estate, the media? Do they genuinely care about the Filipino people? My answer is simple: they are too busy building their business empires.
But if neither government nor media can be trusted, then the responsibility ultimately falls on us, the Filipino people.
The last question we addressed in our conversation was, ‘What should be done?’
What should the Filipinos do now?
I was surprised that she was thinking the same thing I was… REVOLUTION.
We agreed that all the investigations being done by both the lower and upper chambers of Congress on the flood control project anomalies will amount to nothing. Even the planned independent commission cannot be expected to be genuinely independent. The loyalty of the members belongs to the authorities that appointed them.
Politicians have their way of sweeping under the rug the messes of their colleagues. They have mastered the art of compromise to such an extent that, in the end, only the lowly contractors will serve prison time.
Meanwhile, the equally guilty, high-ranking individuals in the government—who belong to wealthy and powerful families—will only receive a slap on the wrist.
Honestly, I have entirely lost my faith in our government. I don’t know who among them can be trusted. Even the international community has doubts about the moral ascendancy of our leaders to hold the reins of government. The South Korean government is the first to cast doubt on the trustworthiness of our government. And soon, other countries may. For the first time in my life, I find myself hesitating to say I’m from the Philippines.
Somehow, the only credible government institution now is the Military. They are our “second-to-last” hope. They need to take control of the government, either peacefully or by force. Everybody in the government must resign. The Military must investigate the widespread corruption and send to jail all those who are found guilty. They must do a comprehensive audit and accounting of all government expenditures. They must start with the yearly National Budget from the time the Marcos dictatorship ended up to this year. They should not leave any stone unturned.
The crooks must be prevented from running for any public office. When finally justice is served, the military shall order new elections to elect a new government.
If the military will not take over, we could be heading in the direction that the Indonesians and the Nepalese went. We must not allow the present government officials to continue running the affairs of government.
As I said before, the Military is our “second-to-last” hope. But our final hope—the true hope—rests with us, the Filipino people.
It’s time to breach party lines and set aside ideological differences. Let’s stop supporting any politician and stand together in love for our country. The slogan should be clear: “Save Our Nation,” not “Save a Politician.” We have been exploited and betrayed by greedy politicians for too long—it’s time to take back our country.
And when the time comes to exercise our freedom of suffrage again, we must vote for the most qualified leaders. It’s time to weed out the politicians and choose leaders who are true statesmen, not career (greedy) politicians.
It’s time to reclaim our nation. The time is now. When we march to the streets, bring no party banners, only our nation’s flag.
M.A.D. LIGAYA
M.A.D. L I G A Y A 