A Pandora’s box has been opened.
After President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. revealed a list of contractors cornering nearly P100 billion in flood-control projects — and Senator Panfilo Lacson’s privilege speech on systemic abuse in public works funding — the floodgates burst wide open. What once hid behind layers of bureaucracy and ribbon-cuttings is now under the spotlight: the quiet but decisive role of Congress in shaping which projects the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) actually builds.
DPWH projects, according to official guidelines, start with a simple process. Needs are identified by planners or local governments, studied for feasibility, then submitted to the Department of Budget and Management (DBM) for inclusion in the National Expenditure Program. Congress then deliberates and passes the General Appropriations Act (GAA), the law that funds every project.
From there, the steps look orderly: engineering, bidding under Republic Act 9184, construction, inspection, and turnover. A clean process, at least on paper.
In truth, the money trail leads elsewhere. Lawmakers, not engineers, determine what gets built. Representatives and senators push for their own projects, lobby for their inclusion, and, most controversially, make budget insertions.
A budget insertion is an allocation slipped into the national budget, often during marathon deliberations or closed-door bicameral sessions. Some insertions address real community needs. Others resemble the discredited pork barrel system, where funds are carved out to benefit allies, secure votes, or funnel resources to favored contractors.
Even after the Supreme Court declared the Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) unconstitutional in 2013, lawmakers found new levers of control. The bicameral conference committee, where the House and Senate quietly reconcile their budget versions, became the new Pandora’s box where billions can shift unnoticed.
Marcos’ disclosures and Lacson’s warnings stripped the veil off this system. What was once whispered in bureaucratic corridors became undeniable: DPWH may execute the projects, but it is Congress that initiates, dictates, and engineers the flow of billions in infrastructure funds.
The result is a public works program shaped less by national planning than by political influence. Each bridge, road, and flood-control structure is not just a product of engineering but a political footprint, a reminder of whose signature made the funding possible.
The DPWH project cycle, needs, planning, budgeting, bidding, construction, audit—was designed to guarantee transparency. Yet, exposed under the light of recent revelations, it now looks like a façade for a system where politics dictates priorities.
The box has been opened. What comes out next, contractors, lawmakers, or entire syndicates, may yet redefine how public funds are spent. But one fact has already been laid bare: at the very start of every DPWH project is not an engineer’s blueprint, but a congressman’s insertion.