In a stunning development that has sent shockwaves through the nation’s political landscape, the controversial couple Sarah and Curly Discaya have officially ceased all cooperation with the Independent Commission for Infrastructure (ICI). The commission, tasked with unraveling the massive flood control anomaly scandal, confirmed the couple’s abrupt withdrawal.

ICI Executive Director, Attorney Brian Kit Hosaka, announced that the Discayas have invoked their right against self-incrimination, effectively silencing themselves and ending any possibility of their testimony—for now.

This move instantly ignited a firestorm of public outrage and speculation. For weeks, a fierce debate has raged over a proposal, allegedly pushed by a singular, powerful political figure, to turn the couple into state witnesses. Now, that debate is moot, replaced by a far more chilling question: Is this silence a standard legal tactic, or is it a calculated chess move, protecting powerful masterminds who have guaranteed the couple they will never see the inside of a jail cell?

From the very beginning, the public has been deeply skeptical of the Discayas. The narrator’s sentiment reflects a widespread distrust, labeling the couple “full of lies” and fundamentally untrustworthy. The primary objection to their potential state witness status was simple: their testimony was riddled with holes, curated omissions, and what can only be described as “selective amnesia.”

The most glaring gap in their story is the timeline. The Discayas implicated several congressmen in ghost project anomalies, but only those from the period of 2022 to 2025. This is a critical deception. In previous interviews, the couple themselves admitted their meteoric rise to wealth began in 2016, the year they first became involved with the DPWH.

The six-year period from 2016 to 2022, spanning the entirety of the previous Duterte administration, remains a black hole in their testimony. Who were their contacts then? Who were the powerful figures that helped them build their empire? Their silence on this period is deafening and points to one unavoidable conclusion: they are actively protecting their original benefactors.

A state witness is required to tell the whole truth. The Discayas were offering a heavily edited, self-serving narrative designed to sacrifice current-day figures while shielding the masterminds of the past. As one commentator put it, you cannot grant state protection to someone who only reveals “piling-pili” (cherry-picked) information.

Beyond their selective testimony is the glaring lack of sincerity. A key component of the Witness Protection Program is a genuine show of remorse and cooperation, which often begins with the restitution of stolen wealth.

The Discayas have made no such effort.

Their case stands in stark contrast to other figures in similar scandals, such as the reported “Bruce Hernandez,” who allegedly surrendered numerous luxury vehicles as a tangible sign of his willingness to cooperate. The Discayas, meanwhile, have reportedly not returned a single centavo. In fact, their fleet of high-end cars is said to be impounded by the Bureau of Customs, not for surrender, but for millions in unpaid taxes.

This paints a picture not of remorseful whistleblowers, but of habitual lawbreakers who believe they are above accountability. Legally and morally, the “most guilty” party in a crime cannot be granted state witness status. The public, and many critics, have firmly placed the Discayas in that “most guilty” category.

As the official investigation stalls, the court of public opinion has turned its focus to the couple’s personal lives, where rumors of moral bankruptcy only fuel the public’s distrust. Whispers from “Marites” gossip circles, now bleeding into mainstream commentary, allege a marriage in turmoil. The rumor is that Sarah Discaya is engaged in her own extramarital affair, allegedly as “revenge” for her husband Curly’s own well-known womanizing.

While private matters, these allegations strike at the core of their credibility. If the couple is allegedly engaged in a complex web of personal deceit against each other, how can they possibly be trusted to tell the truth to the nation about billions in stolen funds? It suggests a foundational lack of integrity, where deception is a way of life.

This entire debacle has also cast a harsh light on the ICI’s own methods. A growing chorus of citizens and critics is demanding that the commission’s investigations be held in the open, live-streamed for all to see, much like the Senate Blue Ribbon Committee hearings. The current “closed-door” policy, they argue, only breeds suspicion, protects the powerful, and allows “fake news” to flourish.

A prime example is the swirling rumor about former Senator Mark Villar. According to one source, “Montlulpo,” Villar allegedly “threw a tantrum” during a closed-door ICI session, feeling he was being unfairly targeted, and was subsequently “kicked out” of the office. The ICI has publicly denied this incident ever took place. Without transparency, the public has no way of knowing who is telling the truth—the commission or the whistleblowers. This secrecy, critics charge, only benefits the true masterminds who remain comfortably in the shadows.

Perhaps the most telling aspect of this entire affair is the Discayas’ own behavior. They have shown no fear. Ombudsman Boying Remulla was quoted as observing, “I don’t see fear in their faces,” noting a complete lack of remorse.

This arrogance was on full display when Sarah Discaya, arriving for an investigation, was seen “acting cute” for the cameras. She later dismissively told reporters she was enjoying the memes being made about her. This is not the behavior of individuals facing the collapse of their empire. This is the confidence of people who believe they are, and always will be, untouchable.

So, why this staggering confidence? Why walk away from a potential deal?

The most explosive theory circulating among political insiders is that the Discayas’ silence is not a legal defense, but a high-stakes political gamble. They are not afraid, because they have been given assurances from a protector far more powerful than the current investigation.

The speculation is that the couple is stalling, betting on a dramatic and imminent regime change. They are allegedly counting on President Marcos being ousted from office.

According to this theory, the person who would replace him—the very same politician who was allegedly pushing so hard to make them state witnesses—would then squash the investigation and grant them total immunity. Their silence now is a calculated bet on a future administration, one led by their ally, who will reward them for their loyalty and for protecting the secrets of the past.

Faced with this web of deceit, the public’s patience has run out. The viral sentiment of former Senator, now Congresswoman, Leila de Lima, rings true: “Ikulong na ‘yan mga kurakot!” (Jail those corrupt officials!).

In the end, the public is almost relieved. A tainted, incomplete, and self-serving testimony from the Discayas would have been a perversion of justice. Their refusal to cooperate is, perhaps, the most honest thing they have done. It is a clear admission of their selective protection and a tacit admission of their own guilt. If they will not speak the whole truth, then the path forward is clear. The calls for their immediate prosecution and imprisonment are growing louder by the day.