Mountains of cash and the depth of decay

The image was impossible to ignore: two pictures showing mountains of cash—literal bricks of money—reportedly prepared for delivery to lawmakers and officials of the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH). 

It was not some viral meme or dramatized movie still. This was real, and it sent chills down the spines of ordinary Filipinos. The billiard table used as a staging ground for this brazen transfer wasn’t even big enough to hold it all.

The visual shock of the cash was just the beginning. What followed were further revelations of staggering corruption, involving not just politicians but entire family networks embedded within government institutions. Casinos confirmed reports of massive gambling losses racked up by DPWH officials and their favored contractors. 

One contractor from Central Luzon—who curiously kept landing government projects—turned out to be co-owned by children of local politicians and a former DPWH secretary. 

Meanwhile, in Oriental Mindoro, three entire flood control projects were found to be non-existent—physically missing—by none other than the current DPWH secretary.

In any functioning democracy, this cascade of evidence would be enough to spark resignations, arrests and urgent reforms. But here, the cycle feels all too familiar: Denials, deflections, disappearances.

One case in point is a photo of a former DPWH district engineer with a senator—an image the senator insists proves nothing. He claims he doesn’t know the man. But the photo, like the cash, speaks louder than the excuses.

Amid this mess, there is a glimmer of something different. Enter Senator Ping Lacson, the next chair of the Senate Blue Ribbon Committee. A former police officer with a reputation for discipline and a longstanding intolerance for corruption, Lacson’s last two privilege speeches have already revealed more than what came out of the PDAF (Priority Development Assistance Fund) scandal a decade ago.

Lacson has both the network and the experience to get to the heart of the matter. He knows where to look—and how to look. He has already exposed how project accomplishment reports were manipulated, and how regional DPWH officials willingly signed off on fictitious projects. His revelations lend weight to former DPWH Secretary Rogelio Singson’s assertion: the paper trail exists. The challenge is making sure it doesn’t vanish conveniently, as documents so often do.

Still, even the best investigator faces an uphill battle. As the scandal deepens, don’t be surprised to see an exodus of implicated officials and contractors—suddenly booking “long family vacations” or disappearing from public view altogether. The playbook is simple: delay, deflect, disappear.

And in the meantime, public anger continues to simmer.

But here lies the most painful truth: street protests may not be enough. Filipinos have marched, rallied and demanded change for decades. And yet the cycles continue. Expressing indignation will not automatically lead to indictments. And when charges are finally filed, the justice system moves at a glacial pace—if it moves at all.

If history is any guide, we already know how this ends. Cases will take a decade or more to resolve. Billionaire contractors with everything to lose will pull strings behind the scenes. 

Judges assigned to these high-profile cases may themselves be compromised—or tempted. PDAF cases showed us that even when senators are indicted, actual jail time is rare, if not completely avoided. Most Filipinos already expect this.

This is not just a corruption scandal. It is a test of whether there is any institutional integrity left in this government. The scale is massive, the players powerful, and the money overwhelming. But what matters now is whether Filipinos—citizens, honest officials, and the few remaining defenders of justice—can hold the line.

We’ve seen the mountains of cash. Now we must ask: Is there enough courage to bring down the mountains of corruption behind them?