Dear Ombudsman Boying

Congratulations on inheriting the nation’s dirtiest broom. You arrived at an impossible hour. The floodwaters of corruption will inch toward the Palace, and everyone is pretending their shoes are still dry.

Every administration must eventually make this pilgrimage, the season when allies become suspects.

You do not fortify the Ombudsman’s office unless you’re expecting audits that hit uncomfortably close to home.

Your appointment betrays the President’s paranoia, shielding himself from a crime he will neither admit nor confront, yet whose shadow he cannot escape.

Sara’s impeachment lies buried in the rut of the flood scandals, while Congress and the administration, once eager to wield it as a weapon, now find themselves exposed.

Her allies deliberately stoke its embers, suppressing momentum to buy time until she claims her place.

From the vantage of politics, an Ombudsman can be a Plan B designed to stall Sara’s inevitability and rewrite the climate of succession.

Ombudsman Remulla, you occupy a station singular in the annals of power. Independent, yet installed by the President, empowered to investigate free from the constraints of Congress.

In your hands rests the leverage to tilt focus, accelerate inquiry, delay reckoning, let the balance of dynasties hang.

Will you allow yourself and the law to be bent into a tool of political gravity, shifting attention from one family to another?

Justice wears a blindfold, it is said. Perhaps now she needs earplugs, too. To block out the whispers of dynasties tugging at her sleeve.

Ombudsman Boying, you know this better than anyone. You’ve lived within the noise, served among the powerful, emerged from the very crucible whose excesses you must now judge.

Your seven-year term will outlive the President who appointed you. That is your burden. And your gift.

When history turns, as it must, and the allies of today become the accused of tomorrow, will you stay as the steady pivot of measured justice?

When Sara assumes the presidency, and finds the institution itself rigged against her, will you be the final Marcos-friendly hedge against a vengeful successor, or the lone sentinel standing between retribution and fairness?

The country is watching. When you investigate, investigate fully. When you delay, delay for no one. The power to prosecute is not a political weapon, but a mirror held up to a nation’s conscience.

If you do your job as Lady Justice would (blindfolded, unseduced, unmoved by the tremor of dynasties) then, perhaps, when your term ends, we can finally say we lived under a government that tried.

Ombudsman Boying, may history remember you as more than a political appointee.

May your pen stay heavy, your friends few, your sense of humor intact. Every dynasty loves an honest man right until he signs the wrong document.

The choice, sir, is yours, and seven years long.