Profit, preachers, pigs

False profit

By Vivienne Angeles

In the Philippines, a country deeply shaped by centuries of Christian faith, biblical names are common blessings given to children — names like Emmanuel (“God with us”), Ezekiel (“Strengthened by God”), and Gabriel (“God is my strength”). We hope these names reflect the true character of those who bear them.

Take, for instance, Senator Joel Villanueva. His name means “Jehovah Is the Lord” — also the initials of the mega-church founded by his father, Eddie Villanueva. Yet, this connection to faith makes his recent actions and allegations more troubling.

Over the weekend, a video surfaced showing Senator Joel speaking at the 47th anniversary of his father’s evangelical group. Instead of preaching faith and integrity, he took the stage to defend himself amid claims of corruption. Joel is accused of demanding a 30-percent kickback from flood control projects in Bulacan, as exposed by former DPWH engineer Brice Hernandez.

*OLD TESTAMENT.* This is not a new story. In 2016, former Ombudsman Conchita Carpio Morales ordered Villanueva’s dismissal from public service for grave misconduct and dishonesty linked to the misuse of P10 million in pork barrel funds.

Just today, Ombudsman Jesus Crispin Remulla said he is preparing to deliver a letter to Senate President Vicente Sotto to finally enforce that dismissal order.

As a born-again Christian, I believe the church should be a sanctuary for truth, life, and hope—not a stage for political defense or self-promotion.

Hearing Joel’s ‘preaching,’ I was struck by how he turned a holy event into what felt like a plenary session, delivering a privilege speech—blurring the lines between the Senate and the sanctuary, using scripture to shield himself rather than to preach the gospel.

I do not condemn faith or religious organizations—I am a believer myself. But I reject the use of faith as a political shield. When a man cloaks himself in Bible verses while entangled in corruption, it does not sit right—I speak not only as a faithful but as a Filipino.

*NEW TESTAMENT.* This is a call for justice and integrity. Faith is sacred, and so should be those who lead—whether in church or government. Let this be known to the next generation, so that the tribulations of the Filipinos may come to an end.

We deserve leaders who live up to their names, embodying the values they profess, not exploiting faith for personal gain. Remember, Jesus was crucified with criminals. _Ipako sa krus ang magnanakaw.

Blame the locals

By Carl Magadia

Ted Herbosa looked exasperated as he addressed the constant blame hurled at the DOH for the sorry state of district and provincial hospitals.

“The local government’s hospital is rotten. Who gets blamed? The Secretary of Health, right?”

But here’s a fact: it’s not his hospital to run.

Under the Local Government Code, district and provincial hospitals fall under the governor or mayor’s mandate. Maintenance, funding, and management of these facilities were transferred to LGUs. Only regional hospitals remain under DOH.

It conveniently shifted blame downward — from Malacañang to LGUs.

The mayors and governors — these are not “small fish.” They control billions in public funds and "sign off" on whether a local clinic gets supplies or whether a provincial hospital gets repairs.

When they claim, “We don’t have the budget,” it’s often a lie by omission.

LGUs receive their own appropriations, approved annually by their local council. These are funded by local taxes, business permits, and the National Tax Allotment — their constitutionally guaranteed share of national revenues, distributed by DBM based on population, land area, and equal sharing.

They have money. If there’s nothing for hospitals, it’s because they chose to spend it elsewhere.

In my relative’s case — a healthcare worker — her salary has been delayed multiple times, medical supplies are scarce, and basic equipment is either broken or nonexistent.

When a staff member tipped off a journalist about the crumbling hospital and salary delays, the response wasn’t to fix the problem. It was a witch hunt. An emergency meeting was called not to address the issues, but to smoke out the “traitor.”

LGUs prepare and execute their own budgets, and they are audited by the Commission on Audit. But as Mayor Vico Sotto once noted, when COA flags anomalies, many local officials smugly say: “The Commissioner has my back!”

The DOH must still answer for its own gaps — but not for facilities it no longer runs.

We need to start demanding answers from our governors and mayors. We must dig into how much they allocate for health, how they use their NTA, and whether their local councils are rubber-stamping budgets that benefit politicians than patients.

Ghost floods, real losses

By Jason Mago

Nearly P1 billion meant to protect Malolos City from floods has reportedly gone down the drain – literally and figuratively. From 2022 to 2025, 106 flood projects were funded with P8.1 billion, yet audits reveal 13 projects, worth P975 million, never existed. Eight more were substandard, and six had no records at all.

Malolos City mayor warned the numbers could rise as investigations deepen. Bulacan’s 1st District Engineering Office has earned an infamous reputation as the epicenter of these anomalies. Last week, the Department of Justice referred multiple cases of ghost projects to the Office of the Ombudsman.

The Commission on Audit isn’t pulling punches either, flagging four more non-existent projects worth P351 million – all fully paid by the DPWH. Officials and contractors now face potential charges under the Anti-Graft and Corrupt Practices Act and related laws.

These aren’t just phantom projects. For residents, they mean delayed relief, wasted money, and higher flood risks. Bulacan’s mess is a warning: unless LGUs reform how public funds are spent and audited, ghost projects will keep haunting taxpayers – and the people who depend on them most.