The cost of every ‘kwek-kwek:’ Corruption in flood control

“AND behold, I, even I, do bring a flood of waters upon the earth, to destroy all flesh, wherein is the breath of life, from under heaven; and everything that is in the earth shall die.” — Genesis 6:17

LAST Sunday, September 21, 2025, protesters across Metro Manila gathered in multiple sites to denounce corruption in flood-control projects.

The script of political controversy has become painfully familiar: a scandal breaks, the President issues a statement, Congress launches hearings for the cameras, a few officials are suspended as “sacrifice,” private contractors are charged, and an “independent” probe staffed by people from the same system is convened. Then the cycle resets.

The Rallying Cry

In one viral interview on social media, a protester was asked what he wanted from government. His answer: “Ibaba ang presyo ng fishball, tokneneng, kwek-kwek at calamares!”

Many Filipinos laughed—but if one ponders, that plea distills a harder truth: corruption isn’t abstract; it shows up in everyday prices, in the cost of street food, in flooded streets that choke small vendors’ sales, and in public funds diverted from basic services that keep communities afloat.

The deeper injury is moral: when the very officials tasked to craft laws and safeguard the public purse are suspected of siphoning funds, the betrayal corrodes trust, diverts resources from life-saving infrastructure, and leaves ordinary Filipinos to pay, quite literally, for the next flood.

The outrage is warranted. Just as floodwaters overflow, corruption seeps into every pore of governance eroding trust, distorting priorities, and making ordinary life more expensive and precarious.

The crowds in the streets last Sunday were not merely reacting to another headline; they were demanding an end to a cycle that treats accountability as theater and the public as props. Real reform means breaking the script: transparent procurement, credible prosecutions that reach the masterminds, not just the “sacrifice” and flood-control projects that finally serve the people who pay for them.

Involvement of Law Makers

If the allegations prove true, it hardly surprises anyone that some lawmakers are entangled in the flood-control fiasco. As former Bulacan District Engineer Henry Alcantara alleged, the supposed “big fish” include Senators Joel Villanueva and Jinggoy Estrada, former senator Bong Revilla, Congressman Zaldy Co, Congresswoman Mitch Cajayon-Uy, and former DPWH Undersecretary Robert Bernardo.

Alcantara’s claims, although still subject to investigation, and to which all parties are entitled the presumption of innocence however fits into a long-running pattern: flood-control budgets have historically been fertile ground for “pork” insertions and ghost projects, shielded by technical complexity and layers of subcontracting.

The deeper injury is moral: when the very officials tasked to craft laws and safeguard the public purse are suspected of siphoning funds, the betrayal corrodes trust, diverts resources from life-saving infrastructure, and leaves ordinary Filipinos to pay, quite literally, for the next flood.

A Filipino’s Voice Against Corruption

As a Filipino, I feel compelled to speak out. Silence is the oxygen that keeps corruption alive. Accountability is not merely a spectacle of our imagination; it begins with citizens insisting on receipts, on transparent bidding, on project lists that match what we see on the ground–not flowery words through the media and “pa-epal” tarpaulins.

We must also recognize that corruption doesn’t occur in a vacuum; it is systemic. The rise of “nepo babies” is no surprise when a parent is a corrupt public official. We know the script: scandal, sound bite, “sacrifice,” reset.

It is time to rewrite the story. Here is the new plot: prosecute the masterminds, not just the messengers; give citizens standing to sue for non-performance; and hard-wire transparency into every stage of spending.

Until then, every flood in the Philippines will bear the weight of corrupt officials’ hands. The public is done being props. We will be the dike.