Deafening silence

In a political climate thick with anger, exhaustion and uncertainty, Miss Universe 2018 Catriona Gray’s words at the November 30 Trillion Peso March sliced through the din like a siren: “Many are starting to forget why we are angry… our leaders remain silent. Sobrang tahimik, nakakabingi.” It was a lament not merely about noise or its absence, but about a nation slowly surrendering to the belief that nothing will ever change.

The turnout on November 30—reportedly smaller than the crowd during the volatile September 21 protest—speaks volumes. It is not apathy. It is fatigue. People are not less outraged; they are simply more disillusioned. When outrage ceases to feel productive, silence begins to feel safer.

Yet silence from citizens is one thing. Silence from those who wield power is another.

Government agencies—from Malacañang to the DOJ, from DPWH to the Ombudsman—insist that they are doing their best to hold corrupt officials accountable. But in the eyes of protesters, “best” has become a hollow word. Years of scandals and hearings, but no “big fish” behind bars. Promises of transparency, yet no meaningful daylight. Publicized raids and high-profile pronouncements, but no conviction that convinces anyone justice is truly moving.

The case of former congressman-turned-fugitive Zaldy Co only deepened the public’s skepticism. When he named certain Cabinet officials—the Executive Secretary and Budget Secretary—as allegedly involved in hundred-billion-peso budget insertions, both were swiftly replaced, even without evidence presented beyond his claims. But when the accusations shifted upward—toward the President, the First Lady, and the presidential son Sandro—Malacañang’s response was categorical: no investigation would proceed, because there was “no evidence.” For many, the contrast was too stark, too convenient, too telling.

Meanwhile, the first batch of those arrested over anomalous flood-control projects in Bulacan all pleaded not guilty upon arraignment. If their strategy becomes the template for hundreds more, the road ahead will be chaotic: multiple defendants, overlapping charges, endless postponements, and a judicial process vulnerable to delay until the public simply stops paying attention. Complexity, after all, has always been corruption’s favorite hiding place.

By early next year, the looming impeachment of the Vice President threatens to overshadow everything—the investigations, the hearings, even the public’s remaining focus on the scandal. If history repeats itself, attention will shift, narratives will be diluted, and accountability will dissolve into political theater.

And while today’s scandals have not yet reached full resolution, tomorrow’s are already brewing. Before the 2026 budget is even finalized, some lawmakers are reportedly angling for “advance” commissions from favored contractors—proof that greed rarely waits for legislative process. Add to this the discovery—flagged by neophyte Representative Leviste—of duplicate items in the Public Works budget, which somehow evaded scrutiny from both DPWH and DBM despite the storm of controversy engulfing them. If corruption once thrived in darkness, it now seems fully comfortable operating in noon-day sun. This is what brazenness looks like.

What then are ordinary citizens to do? Protest turnout fluctuates. Public outrage wanes and surges. But accountability, transparency and justice cannot depend on the nation’s mood swings. Silence cannot be the default response to exhaustion.

Catriona Gray was right: it has become too quiet, and the quiet is deafening. But silence is not the end—it is a warning. A society that stops believing in change is perilously close to accepting abuse as normal, corruption as inevitable and injustice as permanent.

The question is not whether the people are still angry. They are.

The real question is whether the country will allow its leaders to remain silent.