The past few days have shown, once again, how the national conversation can be hijacked, not by public institutions, but by a Facebook timeline. Former Congressman Zaldy Co’s barrage of accusations, screenshots, voice notes, and supposed documents have overtaken the news feeds of a country that now treats social media as its morning paper, evening newscast, and daily chismis. In the Philippines, where millions scroll before, they even rise from bed, “viral” far too often becomes “verdict.”
Co’s revelations would be explosive in any context, but they land at a particularly volatile moment. With Iglesia ni Cristo–led rallies stretching until Tuesday, the atmosphere is already charged, and the public’s appetite for drama and accountability is at an all-time high.
On a serious note, we must take these with a grain of salt, and Co must head home to face the music. Facebook posts are not affidavits. Screenshots are not sworn testimony. Documents uploaded without verification, a chain of custody, or cross-examination are merely allegations that must be subjected to stringent verification and authentication. As a nation, we cannot outsource our justice system to the comment section.
At the same time, Co’s sudden reinvention as whistleblower does not erase his own involvement. As chairman of the House Appropriations Committee, he presided over budgets that funneled billions into projects, particularly flood control, that are now being exposed as breeding grounds for corruption. The systemic plunder did not happen in a vacuum; it flourished because audits were weak, controls were absent, and the bidding and implementation mechanisms were left wide open to abuse. Importantly, while flood control has become the poster child of misuse, it is hardly the only sector tainted. Irregularities are present in other public infrastructure programs, from roads to buildings to procurement deals shrouded in opacity.
Yet while we dissect personalities and political motives online, the country reels from two recent typhoons that inflicted devastation across Luzon and the Visayas, claiming hundreds of lives. Entire communities have been submerged, bridges washed away, and homes reduced to splinters. In a nation as climate-vulnerable as ours, these tragedies should command our full attention. The conversation we ought to be having is about disaster prevention, resilient infrastructure, and a recovery effort worthy of its victims’ dignity.
Imagine what could have been accomplished had the billions allegedly siphoned off been used as intended — stronger river embankments, functioning drainage systems, protective dams, sturdier roads, and early warning facilities. Instead, corruption ensured that we remained exposed, vulnerable and perennially grieving.
This is the cruel irony: while politicians trade accusations online, the Filipino people bear the actual consequences. Those billions stolen were not theirs to play with. They belonged to the taxpayer, the commuter, the farmer, the mother who lost her home to flooding, the child pulled from the rubble.
Quo vadis, Pilipinas? If we allow “trial by Facebook” to distract us from demanding real accountability and real governance, then we condemn ourselves to repeat this cycle, with the Filipino always paying the price.
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