Obfuscation 

The torrent of evidence delivered to the Independent Commission on Infrastructure (ICI) should have been the turning point—finally, a chance for accountability in a country long accustomed to seeing corruption scandals swell and recede like seasonal floods. With boxes of documents arriving from the Department of Public Works and Highways, Department of Justice, Philippine Competition Commission, National Bureau of Investigation, and other agencies, the public expected the first batch of cases filed before the Sandiganbayan—based on ICI recommendations—to ignite a long-overdue reckoning. Instead, they landed with a thud. They failed to calm the public fury that erupted during the Trillion Peso March. If anything, they sharpened the collective demand for answers.

Yet as has happened too often in our national narrative, the scandal surrounding massive flood control projects—an alleged scheme so extensive it became shorthand for systemic rot—has begun sinking beneath a new tide of political drama. Natural disasters may have initially buried the story in the news cycle, but it is the political tempests now battering Malacañang that threaten to wash it away altogether.

The loudest of these storms is the call for President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. to resign, a demand coming from various corners of an increasingly fractured public. But the political equation is complicated: Vice President Sara Duterte, constitutionally next in line, is a figure whom many anti-administration groups refuse to accept as successor. The floated “solution”—a caretaker government headed by San Miguel Corporation President Ramon S. Ang—evaporated almost as quickly as it surfaced, exposing the desperation and disarray of those seeking alternatives.

Adding fuel to the conflagration are the online videos of embattled former congressman Zaldy Co, who has accused the president of involvement in budget insertions and commissions. These allegations, serious as they are, have only deepened the confusion rather than clarified the truth. Then came Senator Imee Marcos, whose public disclosure of her own family’s concerns about the president’s alleged drug use exploded into the national consciousness. Whether seen as a political maneuver, a cry for help, or an act of candor, the statement has further destabilized an already unsteady administration.

Official declarations of support from military and business leaders did little to steady the ground. Few took them at face value, perceiving them more as ritual than reassurance. Compounding matters is a sweeping Cabinet shake-up that appears less about performance and more about palace intrigue. Executive Secretary Lucas Bersamin’s fiery claim that he was “booted out,” not honorably resigned, was soon echoed by rumors surrounding the exit of former Transportation Secretary Jaime J. Bautista. These are not the signs of a government calmly steering through turbulence; they are the symptoms of internal collapse.

Given this backdrop, Senator Imee Marcos’s assertion that her brother’s alleged drug use has eroded his ability to navigate crisis politics is especially damaging. For many critics, it is reason enough to call for President Marcos to step down. And yet, the opposition remains divided, unable to agree on what—or who—should come next. The quest for the president’s “political blood,” while loud, is anything but united.

Lost in all this is the question that started it all: What will happen to the flood control scandal? The public demanded accountability—real accountability—not merely another round of political theater. But that demand risks being drowned out by the whirlpool of accusations, resignations, and power maneuvers now consuming the national stage.

The people asked for blood. They may yet get it—but perhaps not the kind, nor from the source, that matters most.