The stories are familiar, almost predictable: cracked riverbanks, half-finished canals, and dikes that collapse before the first anniversary of their ribbon-cutting. They make the headlines every rainy season, as if on cue.

Alongside them, accusations of ghost projects and whispered tales of kickbacks trail the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH), raising the question: Are billions in flood-control funds really protecting lives — or simply lining pockets?

That suspicion has gained new weight with revelations that some DPWH officials and engineers themselves have been implicated.

Public Works Secretary Vince Dizon confirmed the dismissal of former Bulacan first district engineer Henry Alcantara and assistant engineers Brice Hernandez and Jaypee Mendoza for alleged involvement in ghost or substandard projects.

Dizon also disclosed that several contractors had been blacklisted, among them St. Timothy Construction Corporation, SYMS Construction Trading, Wawao Builders, and IM Construction Corporation.

The allegations point to a system where some government engineers, in cahoots with favored contractors and lawmakers who funnel project funds, enriched themselves while leaving communities exposed to floods.

To strip away the politics and get down to the mechanics, the DAILY TRIBUNE sought out the voices rarely heard: those DPWH engineers who design, build, and sometimes quietly mourn these structures when they fail.

Dismayed that they are now lumped together with their rogue colleagues, they agreed to speak on condition of anonymity, out of fear of retaliation.

In a quiet café, talk over coffee drifted away from politics into the language of stone, mortar and steel — materials meant to last decades, but too often betrayed by shortcuts.

They began at the most basic level: canals.

“People think it’s just a trench in the ground,” one engineer said, hands sketching lines in the air. “But a canal is a lifeline. If you leave it as bare earth, it will erode. If you line it with concrete, it resists scouring. If you reinforce it with steel bars, it can withstand higher flows without cracking.”

Earthen canals, they said, may suffice for farmland or remote barangays. But in towns where rushing floods arrive with a vengeance, concrete linings — and sometimes hidden rebars — are indispensable.

“You can tell the difference right away,” another added. “A good lining is smooth, intact, and drains fast. A bad one cracks like old pottery.”

From canals, the conversation shifted to riverbanks, where the fight against erosion is waged.

“Riprap is just stones piled at the edge,” one explained. “It absorbs energy, but if the stones are too small or not locked, the current sweeps them away. Gabions, wire cages filled with stone, are better, but they must be properly anchored with filters beneath.”

Rubble masonry, they continued, is often maligned, though its flaws are usually in execution, not design. “It’s stones cemented together with mortar, no rebars. Done right, it lasts. Done wrong, it crumbles. You’ll see mortar flaking after the first flood if the mix was weak.”

Non-negotiable

Then came reinforced concrete. One of them leaned forward, his tone emphatic. “That’s when you use rebars inside. It’s costly, but for urban riverbanks, it’s non-negotiable. Without steel, it’s like building a house on sand.”

But it was when the discussion turned to dikes that their voices grew heavier.

“Earthen dikes are cheapest,” one began. “You pile soil, compact it, and cover it with grass. But if you don’t protect the toe, water eats it away. If you don’t raise the crest high enough, floods overtop it. Once that happens, it’s game over.”

Rubble masonry dikes can withstand more punishment, they said, but their limits are clear. “No rebars — just stone and mortar. They resist erosion, but they can’t fight a raging river without extra protection.”

And then the strongest — and most expensive — defense: reinforced concrete dikes. “That’s where you put money,” another engineer said flatly. “But they’re expensive, and that’s where corruption lurks — rebars cut short, concrete mixed thin, documents saying ‘reinforced’ but built as plain.”

Every collapse, they argued, carries its own backstory.

A dike fails not only because of rain but because its base was never keyed deep enough. A canal silts up not solely due to nature but because its slope was badly calculated. A wall cracks not from age alone but because cement bags were stretched thinner than the mix demanded.

“These are not accidents,” one engineer stressed, his voice low. “They are choices.”

People suffer consequences

And the consequences of those choices, they said, are borne by ordinary Filipinos. “A farmer sees water creeping into his field because a dike slumped. A family watches their home drown because the canal has overflowed. These are the faces behind every project we sign.”

Behind the technical explanations, a quiet frustration surfaced. Many engineers, they admitted, feel powerless. “We want to speak up, but you know what happens if we do. So we just work, keep the specs as best we can, and hope the next storm won’t expose the shortcuts.”

The DAILY TRIBUNE cross-checked their accounts with the DPWH’s own rulebooks: the Design Guidelines, Criteria, and Standards (DGCS) and the Standard Specifications, also known as the Blue Book. These prescribe compaction tests for soil, bar-bending schedules for reinforced concrete, and manufacturer certificates for gabion wire.

Empty cups

On paper, the safeguards are clear. On the ground, engineers say, they are often unevenly applied. “The documents may be signed, but whether they reflect the actual site is another story,” one remarked.

The meeting wound down with empty cups, some crushed. On the table lay a coffee-stained receipt where one engineer had drawn a rough sketch of a wall. He folded it carefully, as if it were evidence, and slipped it into his pocket. His final words lingered longer than the caffeine:

“We know what right looks like. But the public only sees the ribbon-cutting, not the foundation. That’s why media is important, because if no one checks, the wall may be hollow.”

This year, however, the perennial story of collapsed walls and vanishing funds has taken a far sharper political turn.

The so-called “Floodgate” or “flood-control scandal” has already claimed its first casualty: Public Works Secretary Manuel Bonoan, who resigned under pressure as questions over padded contracts and ghost projects mounted.

President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. has named Dizon, the erstwhile Transportation secretary as Bonoan’s replacement, while at the same time creating an independent commission to probe billions worth of questionable flood-control projects.

The fallout has spilled into Congress, where the Senate leadership has shifted dramatically — Vicente “Tito” Sotto wresting the presidency from Francis “Chiz” Escudero, and Panfilo Lacson returning to the limelight as chair of the Blue Ribbon Committee, vice Sen. Rodante Marcoleta.

The House of Representatives is also under siege on social media, with Lacson himself accusing 67 members of the lower chamber of having pecuniary interests in dubious flood-control projects funded through “insertions” in the 2025 national budget.

(To be continued)

Editor’s Note:

This feature is part of the DAILY TRIBUNE’s ongoing coverage of flood control accountability. The engineers interviewed requested anonymity out of fear of retaliation. All technical claims were cross-verified with official DPWH standards and international references on levee design.