Hand-washing ceremony

Have you ever watched a magic show where the trick is so obvious you want to shout from your seat?

That’s what this whole mess is — a trillion-peso magic trick, except instead of pulling a rabbit from a hat, they’re pulling money from our pockets, and we’re all just sitting in the audience, waiting for the reveal that never comes.

I was talking to a Grab driver a few weeks back. While at the wheel, he shook his head and said, “Ang galing nila, ‘no? Parang nagnakaw na, ikaw pa ang dapat magpasalamat na nahuli sila (They’re something else, aren’t they? They’re the ones who stole, yet you’re the one who should be thankful they got caught).”

We’re the audience of a show called “The Great Filipino Heist.” For three years, they’ve been playing with the national budget like it was their personal Monopoly board. Insertions here, manipulations there — all signed, sealed, and delivered with the highest approval. And now, the same people who signed the checks are conducting the investigation, demanding that we thank them for turning on the lights… after the vault has been emptied.

It’s not just me and the Grab driver, though. When retired Supreme Court justices, bishops, university heads, retired military and police officers, and leaders of cause-oriented groups all say the same thing — that this isn’t your ordinary corruption, that this is theft on an almost suicidal scale — you don’t need to dig further for clues.

Mind you, that’s not gossip. That’s the country’s moral compass screaming. And what do we get in return? A well-produced series of Senate hearings, solemn press conferences, and serious-looking probes. All theater. No one in cuffs.

Let’s call out the story they’re feeding us. “You should be thankful we uncovered this.” Looks like a security guard who slept through a three-year robbery then wakes up, points to the kicked-in door, and asks for a bonus.

The General Appropriations Act was always signed. That means that for three years, the stealing was done with permission. Is the sudden burst of “action” now a cleanup? Or is someone trying really hard to wash their hands in public view. Neither are they mopping the floor, but they’re wiping their prints off the bag.

And if this is really a crackdown, where’s the crack? Where are the mugshots? Why are the senators and congressmen whose names keep floating up still in crisp barongs, not orange uniforms?

Why is someone like Zaldy Co and his named co-conspirators still scot-free? It seems the system isn’t designed to catch the big fish but to wait us out until the news cycle moves on.

This is for everyone watching — especially those with a voice they’ve decided to muffle. The ones who say, “It’s not my lane,” or “I stay out of politics.” It’s understandable that staying comfortable is easier.

But picture the Grab driver cruising through floodwaters that drowned his cousin’s house that a “ghost” flood control project worth millions failed to stop. Picture the mother in a public hospital corridor, cradling her coughing child in a building that’s crumbling because the health fund got cleaned out.

What story do we now tell our kids? That we are “professional?” That we are “neutral and apolitical?” That our silence wasn’t bought — just borrowed? Undoubtedly, there’s no safe sideline here.

When the theft is this bold and the suffering is this real, silence isn’t neutrality. It’s siding with the thief because speaking up is messy and inconvenient.

It’s not just the trillions that is the worst loss here. The money may be tracked and returned someday. The worst thing they have stolen is our collective spirit — the quiet trade of our dignity for a comfortable lie.

That’s a bill we can’t pass on to our children — a debt no future generation should ever have to pay for us. We cannot afford to just be in the audience anymore. The show is over. It’s time to storm the stage.