The political landscape of the Philippines was abruptly shaken last week when a fleeting, split-second verbal error by former Presidential Spokesperson Harry Roque ignited a massive firestorm across social media. The incident, captured during a live interview, was quickly amplified by netizens who claimed it was far more than a simple gaffe: it was, they argue, a catastrophic Freudian slip—an accidental confession that ripped away the carefully constructed facade of the previous administration.

The alleged slip-up occurred while Roque was discussing the perennial issue of corruption in the government. According to the viral clip, Roque appears to fumble his words, momentarily linking the pervasive corruption to the administration of his former boss, President Rodrigo Duterte. Critics claim he began to say, “We know that corruption happened in the administration of Tat…” before quickly and awkwardly correcting himself to link the issue to the current administration. The half-uttered name, the quick backtrack, and the perceived look of panic on Roque’s face were all the fuel needed to turn the segment into a trending political scandal.

For years, the Duterte administration staked its legacy on a fierce, uncompromising war against crime, drugs, and corruption. The promise of cleansing the government was a cornerstone of its appeal. Yet, throughout its term, critics continually pointed to what they saw as glaring inconsistencies: public exposure of corruption that led to zero high-profile convictions, and a concerted effort to limit public scrutiny of high-ranking officials. Harry Roque’s accidental admission, critics argue, has inadvertently validated years of persistent suspicion, suggesting that the “war on corruption” may have been more of a performance than a reality.

The Unspoken Truth: A History of Shielding Accountability

To understand the magnitude of Roque’s blunder, one must revisit two critical areas where the Duterte administration faced intense scrutiny regarding transparency and accountability: the Statement of Assets, Liabilities, and Net worth (SALN) and the failure of the Presidential Anti-Corruption Commission (PACC).

Firstly, the administration was widely criticized for making the SALN of public officials practically inaccessible. The Ombudsman, the agency responsible for guarding these documents, effectively shut the door on public and media scrutiny, citing the need to prevent the documents from being used for “political harassment.” While this was framed as a protective measure for public servants, critics viewed it as a dangerous and intentional obstruction of transparency. The SALN, which serves as a crucial tool for journalists and oversight bodies to track illicit enrichment, became a political secret.

Harry Roque’s accidental admission now casts a dark, retroactive shadow on this policy. If, as his slip suggests, there was rampant corruption occurring under the former president’s watch, then the move to shield the SALN appears to have served a protective function—not for the officials’ privacy, but for their illicit activities. The move, once debated in the context of political ethics, is now being viewed by critics as a potential cover-up.

Secondly, the most damning evidence against the administration’s anti-corruption commitment lies in the history of the PACC. In November 2020, President Duterte himself went public with shocking exposés, revealing what he termed “rampant ghost projects” and widespread corruption within the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH). The public expected heads to roll. The President had created the PACC, led by figures like Greco Belgica, ostensibly to investigate and prosecute the “big fish” that the Department of Justice (DOJ) was deemed too slow to handle.

However, despite the President’s public anger and the damning evidence of ghost projects—which involves billions of pesos of taxpayer money—nothing came of the exposé. Not one single high-profile corrupt official was jailed or even successfully prosecuted. Critics argue that the investigations were either deliberately slowed, hampered, or simply stopped when the trail led too close to the President’s allies.

The PACC’s defense at the time, repeated by its officials, was that the PACC was not a court and therefore lacked the power to jail anyone. However, as political analysts correctly point out, the PACC’s actual mandate was to gather evidence, file strong cases, and ensure the prosecution of corrupt officials—a task at which it definitively failed. Critics maintain that the commission simply lacked the genuine political will to pursue anyone of consequence, serving instead as a tool for political posturing and distracting the public.

Harry Roque’s verbal gaffe—a slip that suddenly acknowledges the existence of “corruption” within that same time frame—provides the missing context for this failure. If the highest levels of the administration were aware of or complicit in the corruption, the PACC’s paralysis becomes completely understandable. The “war on corruption” was not meant to clean the house; it was meant to provide selective political cover.

The Contrast of Current Action

The severity of the previous administration’s inaction is made even clearer when contrasted with the current administration’s anti-corruption efforts. Critics observe that under the current political climate, investigations into “big sharks”—large-scale corruption cases involving high-ranking figures—are moving with unusual speed and decisiveness.

The difference, critics argue, is not a sudden improvement in bureaucratic efficiency but a change in political commitment. When a sitting president and the political leadership are truly committed to prosecution, even the most complex corruption cases can move forward. This difference in pace and success strongly suggests that the previous administration’s failure was not due to a lack of evidence or legal complexity, but a lack of desire to pursue justice against powerful allies.

The public reaction to Roque’s viral clip is one of a weary confirmation of suspicion. For years, the administration enjoyed a high trust rating, built partly on the perception of a firm hand against corruption. Yet, for many, the reality on the ground—the lack of prosecutions, the shielding of powerful figures, and the closure of the SALN—always contradicted the rhetoric.

The video has become a definitive moment for critics, transforming a long-held belief into an accidentally proven fact. Harry Roque, the former spokesman, has always been known for his robust defense of the former president, often employing aggressive rhetoric to shut down critics. Yet, in this instance, his decades of training as a lawyer and his political instincts failed him. In a momentary lapse, the carefully guarded secret of the administration’s time in power slipped past his defenses.

The question is no longer whether there was corruption under the previous administration—a fact critics now claim is confirmed by the very man who defended it—but what accountability will be pursued now. Harry Roque’s slip-up is more than just a viral meme; it is a catalyst for renewed calls for investigation, reminding the public that political responsibility does not end when a term of office does. The accidental truth, once spoken, cannot be unsaid, and the political fallout from those few seconds of verbal stumbling will define the discourse for weeks to come. The era of the unchallenged defense may finally be over.