MY column last week was on Jesus Crispin Remulla declaring war on the Dutertes. It was not a figurative skirmish, but a categorical public pronouncement aimed squarely at Deegong’s administration. In no uncertain terms, Remulla announced that his immediate priority — upon the ink drying on his oath — would be the Pharmally corruption scandal, the multibillion-peso anomaly that remains the most egregious smear on the Duterte administration’s pandemic legacy.

“We’ll look into that because it seems like it has been forgotten, buried in oblivion. However, these cases should not be forgotten, as the allegations carry weight,” he said.

This, of course, is the sound of the political guillotine being sharpened. It is the very specter that haunted Imee Marcos and Paolo Duterte as they mounted a last-ditch, yet ultimately futile, effort to derail Remulla’s appointment to the position. Now, the swords are unsheathed, the battle lines drawn and the political blood is expected to flow freely.

The inevitable howls of “Unfair!” and “Politically motivated acts!” already echo through the halls of power. To which I, and many of my weary colleagues, can only offer one response: So what the hell! Go for it!

Good or bad, politically convenient or sincerely righteous, this strategic focus bodes well for the citizenry, but only if Remulla is prepared to follow through on the second, and arguably more critical, half of his initial pledge.

The imperative of the floods

While the Pharmally probe carries the heavy symbolic weight of the previous regime’s alleged sins, the public’s most acute rage is currently fixed elsewhere. Remulla has acknowledged this urgency: “The first thing I’ll attend to... is what happened at the DPWH (Department of Public Works and Highways). We have to focus on that, build up the cases, and make sure that well-prepared cases are filed before the Sandiganbayan and the RTCs (regional trial courts).”

This is the investigative thread that we, the angry people, demand be pulled first. Pursue the evidence wherever it leads, culminating in the filing of cases against the perpetrators of the scandalous flood control anomalies. Remulla must now follow through where the legislative hearings — both Senate and House — collapsed under the sheer weight of their members’ own hypocrisy.

It was a classic case of the pot calling the kettle black, with congressmen wanting senators’ names to surface, and senators demanding the unmasking of congressional culprits. A complete, cynical political stalemate where the devil takes the hindmost.

The dramatis personae of corruption

The Ombudsman’s path to credibility must now pass through the bureaucratic dens of the DPWH. Remulla must wield the “Juez de Cuchillo” proverbially cutting the heads of the public servants alleged to be part of this deeply entrenched web of corruption.

The list of names is long, constituting a rogue’s gallery of alleged bureaucratic malfeasance: the DPWH-BGC (Bulacan Group of Contractors) Boys (Henry Alcantara, Brice Hernandez, Jaypee Mendoza), former Public Works secretary Manuel Bonoan and the cadre of undersecretaries — Bobby Bernardo, Cathy Cabral and Emil Sadain.

But the probe cannot stop at the mid-level. It must ascend to the seeming “untouchables” in the highest echelons of government: Senators Jinggoy Estrada, Francis Escudero and Joel Villanueva, and their counterparts in the lower house (at least 17 names were mentioned) headed by Rep. Zaldy Co, and most pointedly, the name specifically mentioned by Escudero — former House speaker Martin Romualdez.

These officials fall squarely within the Ombudsman’s mandate. Under the 1987 Constitution (Art. XI, Sec. 13) and Republic Act 6770, or the Ombudsman Act of 1989, this office is empowered to investigate any act or omission of a public official that appears “unjust, improper or inefficient.”

Equally critical is the investigation of private entities — the contractors — who demonstrably conspire with public officials in graft, bribery or fraudulent transactions involving state funds. President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. in his State of the Nation Address, brought into the national conversation the Discayas and the other dozen or so contractors.

And let us dispense with the fantasy of a “witness protection program” for these contractors. The Rodante Marcoleta obsession with leniency is misplaced. If ever they are to receive consideration, it must be preceded by the surrender of their stolen loot — all of it, down to the umbrella stashed in the Rolls-Royce. Ex-senator Bong Revilla, now safely ensconced as a private individual in Cavite, should not escape the purview of this expanded investigation into past corruption networks.

Pharmally and the unfinished business

Only when the flood control cases are filed, with the genuine threat of incarceration looming over powerful shoulders, should the Ombudsman pivot fully to the Pharmally and the Duterte Covid-19 web of anomalies. Former senator Dick Gordon went through political hell and endured the Deegong’s wrath to expose this syndicate. True, the smaller fish were caught, but the leviathans slipped away.

Gordon’s monthslong Blue Ribbon Committee investigation ended with a mere nine signatories — two shy of the 11 needed to elevate the report to the plenary, effectively preventing the case’s momentum and protecting the suspected masterminds.

We must refresh our collective memory of those who declined to sign the findings, shielding in the process the former president’s associates, particularly his notorious political consultant, Michael Yang. Several complicit senators are still sitting: Pia Cayetano, Sherwin Gatchalian, Lito Lapid, Imee Marcos, Juan Miguel Zubiri (who reportedly sought the omission of PRRD’s name) and the Deegong’s surrogate son, Bong Go. The headlines at the time screamed, “Filipinos lose as the Pharmally report fails to get the Senate’s nod.”

The preceding Ombudsman’s tenure only reached so far, charging seven key Procurement Service-Department of Budget and Management officials (the “Davao Boys,” including ex-undersecretary Lloyd Lao and director Warren Liong), one former Cabinet secretary (Duque) and seven Pharmally executives. This narrow focus ensured the masterminds remained untouched while trials commenced for the P4.16-billion supply contracts. This time around, Remulla must champion the people’s side and go beyond the “small fish.”

The people’s reckoning

The cynical view — that Remulla’s Pharmally initiative is merely a political stratagem, a redirection of public fury from the current administration’s flood control mess toward the Dutertes — may indeed possess a kernel of truth. The strategy would be to reframe the current political squabble as a dynasty konfrontasi ahead of 2028.

But this political calculus is profoundly shortsighted and dangerously underestimates the current zeitgeist. The people’s rage has surpassed the petty framing of partisan wars. It is at a boiling point over the very principle of impunity. The collective fury is so pervasive and organized that there may not even be a 2028 to speak of.

This is no longer a vicarious thrill derived from reading my columns or watching events go by — the trillion street marches, the “moro-moro” teleserye Senate/House hearings on TV and YouTube. It is a reckoning. The anger is real, and it is organized. We will not be lulled into silence by token gestures or hollow reforms. We are watching. We are mobilizing. And when the moment demands it, we will storm the ramparts — not in chaos, but with clarity, conviction and the unyielding belief that justice must be claimed, not begged for. The time for passive hope has passed. The people are ready. The people will act. And history will remember that they did.

SINCE the 1986 restoration of democracy, upon the adoption of the 1987 Constitution, the Office of the Ombudsman was created to be the Philippines’ chief institution against graft and abuse of power. From Conrado Vasquez (appointed by Cory, 1988-1995), the first ombudsman who built its foundations, to Aniano Desierto (Ramos, 1995-2002) accused of “selective justice,” to Simeon Marcelo (Arroyo, 2002-2005) whose relentless prosecution secured Estrada’s plunder conviction, the ombudsman’s role has often reflected the political climate. Merceditas Gutierrez (Arroyo, 2005-2011) resigned amid impeachment threats for inaction on scandals, while Conchita Carpio-Morales (Aquino III, 2011-2018) reinvigorated the office with aggressive corruption prosecutions, notably the PDAF scam. Samuel Martires (Duterte, 2018-2025) drew criticism for restricting access to officials’ SALNs, curbing transparency, effectively neutering one of the sharpest weapons of public scrutiny.

Ombudsman – pillar of the rule of law

Remulla’s appointment was not a surprise. It was, in fact, anticipated. His adversaries tried twice to derail him: first, through a complaint of kidnapping former president Duterte, a complaint with Sen. Imee Marcos’s handprints all over; then, through another harassment maneuver in Congress by Pulong Duterte, Duterte’s son. Both fizzled out.

The Dutertes, ever the realists in political combat, read the terrain correctly: Remulla at the helm of the Ombudsman meant that the vault doors of the Anti-Money Laundering Council (AMLC) could be pried open. And once opened, the paper trail of joint family bank accounts — Sara, Paolo, Baste, surrogate son Bong Go, and former President Duterte himself — would be exposed to the unforgiving light of SALN verification.

Thus, the efforts to block Boying were less about principle than about fear. Fear that the money trail can no longer be concealed. Fear that the ombudsman, armed with AMLC records, could finally turn the narrative of accountability back on those who once wielded it as a weapon.

The power few understand

The scale of the ombudsman’s power is tremendous. Unlike most appointees, he enjoys a fixed seven-year term and can only be removed by impeachment — an institutional lock matched only by the presidency itself. He is not subject to presidential control, enjoys fiscal autonomy, and commands disciplinary authority over nearly the entire bureaucracy. He can suspend or dismiss officials, investigate on his own initiative (motu proprio), act on complaints, even anonymous ones, and file criminal cases before the Sandiganbayan with his own army of prosecutors. In short, he is the ultimate “verdugo!”

Former justice Antonio Carpio described it as “the most powerful office after the presidency.” The ombudsman’s reach is vast, its independence constitutionally enshrined, and its potential, if wielded with courage, revolutionary.

Marcos and Duterte – the politics of selectivity

The key question is who are Remulla’s targets. Cynics already whisper that the ombudsman will become the instrument by which the Dutertes are to be sidelined. The calculus is simple: the Duterte name is still potent, Vice President Sara is a rival for 2028, and her family’s finances are fertile ground for investigation. If AMLC records reveal discrepancies against the SALNs, then the ombudsman can do what impeachment complaints alone cannot: build a prosecutable case for removal or, at the very least, disqualify Sara from 2028. Shades of the Corona playbook.

Here lies the trap. If Remulla limits his crusade to the Dutertes and spares the Marcos allies, he will fall into the pitfall of selective prosecution. Credibility will evaporate. Worse, the institution he now embodies will again be weaponized as a partisan cudgel rather than a neutral arbiter of justice.

Will Remulla dare to extend his reach beyond expediency? Will he investigate the Marcos loyalists who quietly and illegally inserted pork into the budget? The entrenched dynasties fattened by flood control contracts? His Upsilon fraternity acolyte, Martin Romualdez? Boying was once “Tatang – the Bossman” in 1985. Only by pursuing all camps — even his own — can he restore faith in the office.

Senate’s collapse and ICI’s dilemma

All this unfolds against the backdrop of the Senate’s embarrassing implosion over the flood control scandal. Sen. Panfilo Lacson, armed with documents on billions in dubious insertions, was forced to resign as Blue Ribbon Committee chairman lest his investigation trigger a coup. One by one, senators refused to touch the Blue Ribbon Committee leadership. The Senate, caught investigating itself, collapsed into paralysis; as the Lower House had done earlier. “Corrupti corruptos investigare non possunt!”

This vacuum birthed the Independent Commission for Infrastructure (ICI), a body meant to channel public outrage into investigation. Yet the ICI too has disappointed: secretive, opaque, reluctant to bare its work, as revealed by Mayor Benjie Magalong, erstwhile consultant/investigator. In theory, the ICI is recommendatory, its findings feeding into the Office of the Ombudsman. In practice, it has become another layer of bureaucracy, vulnerable to suspicion. I expect resignations soon.

Here lies an irony. If Remulla proves effective, the ICI may become redundant. If he falters, the ICI’s secrecy ensures it will not fill the gap. Either way, only the ombudsman has the legal teeth to file cases. The rest is political theater.

Citizens at the ramparts

What, then, is to be done? The ombudsman’s independence, while real, cannot be left to the conscience of one man. Civil society must keep watch. As Carpio insists, “trust but verify.” But beyond vigilance lies action.

A broad coalition is now mobilizing to push for people’s initiative (PI) measures: an anti-political dynasty law, a freedom of information act (FOI), and civil society participation in infrastructure bidding. These reforms target the bloodstream of corruption itself. Dynasties perpetuate their power through pork barrel insertions; ghost projects thrive when bidding is opaque; secrecy breeds impunity. By institutionalizing transparency and limiting dynasties, citizens can cut off the oxygen that fuels corruption.

PI will not be easy. Twelve percent of voters nationwide, with three percent in each district must sign on. The work is colossal. But it is precisely in these civic exercises that the antidote to elite impunity is found. Youth and students are being mobilized, echoing the spirit of EDSA yet adapted to the digital age.

The moment of truth

Today, under Boying Remulla the office again stands at a crossroads — its independence and credibility shaped as much by law as by the politics of the moment. His conundrum: he wields the powers of righteousness, the expectations of a weary public, and the suspicion of those who see only political vendetta. His choices will shape not only the fate of the Dutertes, the credibility of the Marcos presidency itself, but more importantly the fate of the country in the years to come. If he prosecutes across factions, he can reestablish the ombudsman as the republic’s sentinel of integrity. And he will be a shoo-in for any position in 2028!

Meantime, the people must do their part. As we speak, the Marangal and Pilipino Movement, co-led by women and along with multitudes in the civil society have invoked the people’s right to anger at the impunity; use the streets as the venue for vigilance and protests — nonviolent, but always with the threat thereof.

For in the end, institutions only live when citizens defend them. The ombudsman’s moment of truth is not his alone — it is ours.

The specter of the new millennium, insidiously hovering above us, does not inspire much confidence. Every political nook and cranny is abuzz with talk of change—calls for reforms in governance, the electoral system, social and economic structures, and a bureaucratic overhaul seem to be the order of the day. Yet, we falter. We hesitate. We bury ourselves in the details of trivial matters, occupying ourselves with the frivolous and anything that can distract us. We attempt to cocoon ourselves, clinging to a stubborn preference for the dull and the ordinary. But the reality of the inevitable is right in front of us. There is no escape. We must face what must be faced—otherwise, we perish.

Democratic deficits at every level are like dirty, giant worms devouring the country from within. Remember—they are worms: emotionless and blind. Scientifically, worms are soft-bodied, legless invertebrates with long, slender forms, thriving in various environments—soil, freshwater, and saltwater. In computing terms, a worm is a kind of virus. Ironically, these “worms” in our country wear coats and ties, ride luxurious cars—fantasies to millions—and crawl through society in the dead of night, while we sleep in ignorance and passivity.

A lack of transparency and accountability, the persistence of patronage politics, plundering by the oligarchy, detached technocratic decision-making, insufficient public participation, and a political system that serves only the wealthy and influential—these are the hallmarks of our situation.
It is no wonder that, nearly every day, we witness restless citizens joining massive protests, flooding the streets with questions: Why do only the small fry face justice, while those accused of major corruption remain free? Whispers abound about People Power 4, 5, or 6, and even the return of martial law. The majority hang by a thread, running out of patience.

A storm is brewing—not the kind triggered by a low-pressure area—but one born of a burnt-out citizenry, impatient for results: the incarceration of “big fish” politicians, the dismantling of the “crocodiles” in Congress and the Senate, liberation from abject poverty, and deliverance from police ineptitude and corruption. Yet, for all our talk, it remains just that: talk. And it’s all threatening to erupt in our faces.

Should we simply live and let live? Persist in apathy and indifference, living up to our reputation as the “sick man” of Asia? Or are we waiting to hit rock bottom, hoping that only then will we finally decide to change direction? If we are driven mad by these maladies afflicting our country, we know the blame cannot be cast elsewhere.
Change—or whatever it is we hold sacred as our deliverance—begins with each one of us. As George Bernard Shaw once said, “Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything.”

Change is, indeed, a much-abused word. Nearly every administration has wielded it as a slogan. But now, what must be done? First, we must all acknowledge that the system is broken, calling for comprehensive reform in our politics and bureaucracy. Second, we must recognize and address poverty, for without tackling it, any institutional reforms will be futile.

We are free to choose, but we are not free from the consequences of our choices. Is change really coming? One can only sigh. And what change are we talking about? I doubt anything will happen if all we do is talk.