Investigator forgot his own rules

You know that awful feeling when you repeat something you heard, only to discover later that you’ve been spreading a load of nonsense — and now you can’t take it back?

In Philippine journalism, we call that “nakuryente” — electrocuted. It stings, and it’s embarrassing. In politics, it’s dangerous for the person who got zapped, and everyone whose name was dragged into the mess.

Senator Panfilo Lacson claimed he has built an entire career on not getting “nakuryente.” He doesn’t speak without a “resibo” (receipt), he says. He’s the investigator, one who follows the evidence. For a long time, that reputation served him well.

I’m not so sure now.

Lacson is being accused of violating the Ombudsman’s confidentiality rule. The reason is that he kept making public statements and accusations against a Senate colleague even after formally submitting documents to the Ombudsman’s office, which is now handling the case at the preliminary investigation stage.

One post in particular is being flagged — a 25-second video snippet Lacson shared on social media, taken during a joint field inspection at the Taguig Lakeshore. The inspectors included the Ombudsman, the Philippine Reclamation Authority, the Land Registration Authority, and the Department of Public Works and Highways.

Lawyers said that alone is a clear breach. They cite Republic Act 6770, the Ombudsman Act of 1989, and Administrative Order 1, series of 2026. Under those laws and rules, fact-finding investigations, witness testimonies, and submitted evidence are strictly confidential, thus details must stay private while a review is ongoing.

There are three reasons for this. The first is to prevent a trial by publicity — so media or social media can’t sway public opinion before the Ombudsman issues an official resolution.

The second is to protect the evidence, so witnesses aren’t influenced and documents aren’t altered. And third is due process — the rights and reputation of one under investigation shouldn’t face premature public judgment.

Since Lacson already filed documents implicating his colleague and the Taguig City government, legal observers said confidentiality protocols applied. His continued posting of edited inspection videos and public accusations could undermine the formal legal process.

Publicizing the case on social media, asking the public to pass judgment instead of letting the Ombudsman decide, runs against the law’s goal of a fair, impartial, and credible investigation.

The dispute began when Lacson disclosed 32 alleged “ghost” flood control and slope protection projects in Taguig worth billions, and the alleged illegal filling of about 170 hectares of Laguna Lake.

The city of Taguig denied the allegations, pointing out that formal Senate hearings showed the DPWH and other national agencies, not the Taguig LGU, were the formal proponents of the infrastructure and reclamation projects along the lakeshore.

And this is where the “kuryente” warning becomes relevant. The most dangerous misinformation isn’t always a fake document. Sometimes it’s a real document without context, a preliminary finding dressed as final, a suspicious photo promoted as proof, and a discrepancy wrapped in certainty. Sound familiar?

Lacson himself admitted that preliminary findings don’t automatically prove a project was a ghost — an admission that basically undercut all the certainty that came before it. Earlier, he pointed to a Taguig project whose photo coordinates reportedly showed it was 600 kilometers away in Leyte.

A bad geotag proves a bad geotag. It definitely doesn’t prove the project doesn’t exist or that a politician stole money from its appropriation.

That’s the danger of a “kuryente.” It’s rarely a completely fake story, but usually something stripped of context. When suspicion becomes allegation, the latter becomes headline, which in turn becomes guilt in the public mind. By the time investigators are done, reputations are already ruined.

A senator with Lacson’s experience should know the difference between a lead and proof. That’s the whole point of building a brand on receipts.

The institutional worry here, however, is real. Lacson has sent material to the Ombudsman. He’s asked multiple agencies to coordinate on the reclamation issue. There’s nothing wrong with asking agencies to investigate. But there is something wrong if referrals and inspections start looking like instruments for settling political scores. And you can’t separate this from the open war between Lacson and his colleague.

The Ombudsman is not supposed to be anyone’s attack dog. The DPWH is not a private investigative bureau, nor are regulatory agencies weapons aimed at adversaries. All belong to the Republic.

In the end, this controversy is bigger than any political rivalry — it’s a full-blown test of accountability, public trust, and whether those in power think the rules apply to them, too.

It tests the Ombudsman’s ability to keep preliminary investigations fair, confidential, and free from trial by publicity and viral posts. The answer isn’t to stop investigating but to investigate harder, independently, without political choreography.

Lacson has spent a career demanding that others answer to evidence. Now he has to show he respects the evidence even when it won’t cooperate with his narrative. Otherwise, he could become the very thing he despises — an investigator under investigation.

He himself was “nakuryente.”