The Prague sojourn of Department of Justice (DoJ) officials is part of a sick production that in the annals of political theater few can rival.

The zarzuela now unfolding started on 16 April when President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. took to social media with the triumphant declaration: “Nahuli na si Zaldy Co (Zaldy Co has been arrested).”

Co, the former Ako Bicol Partylist Congressman and a central figure in the despicable “Floodgate” corruption scandal, was in Czech custody, the President assured the nation.

Coordination for his swift return was underway. Justice would be served. The public, battered by revelations of trillions of pesos in kickbacks funneled through bogus flood control projects under Marcos’ watch, breathed a collective sigh of relief. Or so the script intended.

Reality, as usual, proved far less obliging. Within days, the DoJ itself walked back the President’s language.

Co had not been “arrested” in the criminal sense, officials clarified; he had merely been detained for an immigration violation after attempting to cross into Germany without valid papers.

His Philippine passport had been canceled months earlier on a Sandiganbayan warrant, causing widespread confusion about his fate. There was no International Criminal Police Organization dragnet, but rather a bureaucratic stumble at a Schengen border.

Co could apply for asylum in the Czech Republic (or later in Portugal, where he supposedly holds a passport) and invoke the principle of non-refoulement under the 1951 Refugee Convention.

This would argue that he faces persecution or unfair treatment in the Philippines, potentially blocking his deportation.

Experts said this claim may be weak given the nature of the graft charges, but it can still cause a significant delay.

By 24 April, Justice Secretary Fredderick Vida, leading a high-level delegation to Prague with great fanfare — a junket as former presidential spokesperson Harry Roque branded it — was forced to admit there was no guarantee that Co was even in Czech custody.

The mission, Vida now insisted, will respect “domestic laws, judicial processes and data privacy regulations.”

That position could translate to months of diplomatic limbo with no extradition treaty in place and every chance the target had slipped away.

The “Floodgate” scandal had implicated a web of contractors, lawmakers, and Palace insiders.

Co, who resigned his seat amid the uproar, directly accused President Marcos and Speaker Martin Romualdez of receiving massive kickbacks from budget insertions in explosive video statements. He named bagmen and detailed the mechanics of the plunder.

A regime desperate to project strength while cloaking Marcos with a shield needs a clincher of a script ahead of Co’s potential testimony.

By the time the delegation returns empty-handed next week, the narrative will have shifted again, perhaps to Czech intransigence, or procedural niceties, or the sheer complexity of international law.

The costly Prague sideshow is meant to keep the spotlight off the uncomfortable truth.

The man who could unravel the scandal’s highest reaches is being chased not to face justice, but to be discredited before he can talk.

A thousand press releases are neutralizing accountability. Here, the pattern is unmistakable. Marcos’s administration exposed the Floodgate rot last year with indignation, only to watch the scandal creep back ever closer to Malacañang.

With Co in limbo and his allegations hanging like a sword of Damocles, the President’s team has opted for a new spectacle, with Vida as the bait.

A genuine pursuit of justice requires quiet coordination with European partners and airtight legal channels.

Instead, Filipinos got a presidential Facebook post and a delegation whose leader seeks to lower public expectations.

The zarzuela, including the junket to Prague, suggests the whole charade is meant to insulate the overlord from blame.