When Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. stood in front of the nation for his 2025 State of the Nation Address (SONA) on 28 July, he did more than provide a summary of the past five years or list his upcoming programs for his next year as president. Instead, he laid an accusing hand on something that has long since plagued the country but had been left unaddressed⸺either through the continuing narratives of Filipino resilience or the countless other issues that our country faces. He addressed flood control projects that had become conduits for corruption.

“Mahiya naman kayo,” he said. (“Be ashamed.”) He then ordered the start of the infamous, controversial investigation as we know it today. Flood control projects of the last three years were published and opened to public scrutiny. The next working day after the SONA, 29 July, the machinery of the investigation began to turn.

What followed that key moment has been messy and theatrical, but necessary. Public hearings, a torrent of social media outrage, a three-member independent commission with subpoena power, multiagency asset freezes, and a central figure in the scandal⸺the contractor Discaya couple, whose rise from “rags to riches” has become the loudest symbol of the controversy. But the demand at the heart of all this anger remains unfulfilled.

As of 11 December 2025, it has been 136 days since the investigation officially began. Several persons involved have been detained, but the big names are still free and/or abroad. There has not been any prosecutions, restitution, or actual long-term flood protection.

This is where the story stands right now. Unfinished. Far from victory.

Controversy: Testing the nation's conscience and patience

Within weeks of the SONA, the Palace and the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) disclosed data that sharpened the public's suspicion: roughly 20 percent of the P100 billion flood-control spending in the last three years was concentrated in only 15 contractor firms. This revelation and the amount of money put in a select few's hands prompted immediate scrutiny and a promise of action.

One name rose above the rest: the infamous Discaya couple, Pacifico "Curlee" and Cezarah "Sarah." Their story was flaunted on social media as a "rags to riches" story, with the couple sharing videos of their luxurious lifestyle involving dozens of luxury cars and an out-of-touch rebuke to struggling public school teachers who voiced out complaints of wading through floods. These, being easily accessible to the public, made them a focal point for public fury.

The Senate and the House of Representatives summoned the Discayas—their firms were blacklisted, their corporate licenses later faced revocation, and some of their bank accounts and assets were frozen. The couple's testimony that lawmakers demanded increasing kickbacks yearly, which they were "forced" to comply with, only thickened the plot.  And the list of names dropped is indeed another convoluted chapter in this story of corruption. It involved DPWH officials and three district engineers (Henry Alcantara, Brice Hernandez, and Jaypee Mendoza), and numerous members of Congress, including Speaker Martin Romualdez and other representatives. So many names, so many webs to untangle.

Tribunals, the Anti-Money Laundering Council (AMLC), the Bangko Sentral, and the Court of Appeals have been involved in freezing accounts and insurance policies linked to individuals and firms tied to the scandal. These asset freeze orders (one of the few discrete levers that the state can immediately use) were enacted with the goal of slowing down the movement of money while investigators build cases. But asset freezes are not a conviction. It is restraint, not closure.

If we're still talking about chapters in this dragging, relentless story, then this asset freeze isn't even a significant arc yet in the resolution of the plot pyramid.