When President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. raised his voice in this year’s State of the Nation Address and snapped, “Mahiya naman kayo!” to lawmakers accused of pocketing kickbacks from dubious infrastructure projects, it felt like a rare crack in the polished script of Philippine politics. For once, the words were not just ceremonial. They cut through the usual platitudes and landed squarely on the collective frustration of Filipinos who, for years, have watched billions vanish into thin air while roads crumble and flood control projects collapse with the first storm.

The outrage did not end in the halls of Congress. It spilled onto social media, where netizens found a new target: the “nepo babies” of legislators and contractors, children who, unbothered by the squalor that surrounds much of the country, parade their luxury watches, European getaways, and designer wardrobes on TikTok and Instagram. The anger has become less about infrastructure and more about audacity: How can a political class allow ghost projects to proliferate while their heirs flaunt wealth that no salary grade in government could ever justify?

It would be easy to dismiss this as another cycle of scandal, destined to fade as soon as the next controversy emerges. But there is something different this time. The public’s ire is not only moral, it is systemic. People are asking the right questions: Why do these projects get approved in the first place? Why is corruption detected only when it has already snowballed?

In that restless questioning lies an opening for genuine change. Some proposals now being floated deserve serious attention. One simple proposal is for Congress to adopt the National Expenditure Program (NEP) as proposed by the Executive, instead of mangling it with insertions. The pork barrel may have been outlawed in name, but it thrives in spirit through these insertions that lack technical studies and serve as currency for patronage politics.

Another proposal is to mandate lifestyle checks that go beyond the hollow ritual of filing statements of assets, liabilities and net worth (SALNs). For decades, officials have filed neat declarations of assets while living lives that scream otherwise. Mansions, high-end cars, lavish vacations — none of these square with government paychecks. The solution is not to abolish SALNs but to supplement them with a clear-eyed probe into how public officials and their families actually live.

Of course, the obstacles are immense. Powerful figures will fight tooth and nail to protect a system that feeds them. But the mood has shifted. The mockery of “ghost projects” and the disdain for would-be influencers living off the public purse have already begun to reshape how corruption is discussed.

This is no longer just about missing roads or substandard dikes. It is about the shamelessness of a ruling class that thinks itself untouchable. If the Marcos administration chooses to act decisively now, it could turn what looks like another scandal into a watershed moment. And perhaps that is the greatest ghost to confront — the long-held belief that nothing ever changes. We have our chance right now.