The investigation into the multi-billion-peso flood control anomaly—a scandal that has dominated headlines and ignited public fury over the systematic theft of infrastructure funds—has just collapsed into an unprecedented crisis of credibility. The Independent Commission for Infrastructure (ICI), the body tasked by the administration to spearhead the probe, has publicly confirmed that after months of work, it has failed to identify a single high-ranking official who can be criminally charged. This stunning admission, delivered by the new ICI Special Advisor, has triggered a firestorm of criticism, with analysts and commentators openly accusing the administration of orchestrating a political “slapstick comedy” designed to shield the true masterminds from accountability. The devastating news confirms the deepest fears of the public: the wheels of justice are moving only against the small fish, while the most powerful political architects of the alleged theft remain comfortably untouchable.

The controversial statement came from Rodolfo Azurin Jr., the former Philippine National Police Chief who recently took over as the ICI Special Advisor, replacing his predecessor in a high-profile move meant to signal a renewed, hardline commitment to the anti-corruption drive. Addressing the media, Azurin delivered a revelation that instantly shattered public confidence. He stated with stark clarity: “As of now, we have not seen anyone yet from the government side who may be charged.” He elaborated, confirming that the Commission’s focus remains squarely on contractors and district-level signatories—the low-hanging fruit of any corruption probe. This seemingly technical update has been interpreted by critics as a confession of comprehensive failure, a strategic white flag waved to the high-ranking officials who were the subject of explosive Senate testimony just weeks prior.

The central point of contention is the ICI’s declared investigative strategy: a rigorous “bottom-up” approach. Azurin confirmed that the Commission intends to start its probe at the lowest levels of the bureaucracy—the district offices and local implementers—and only follow the paper trail upward if the evidence organically leads them there. While this may sound legally sound, critics are arguing that this approach is a deliberate and calculated tactical mistake designed to protect the very individuals who should be the immediate targets. Why, critics demand, is the investigation starting from the bottom when explosive testimony has already pointed fingers directly at the top? This defensive strategy is being viewed as a protective barrier around the most powerful figures, effectively allowing the political “King” to dictate the pace and direction of the investigation. The suspicion is that the paper trail at the lower levels will be long, complicated, and ultimately inconclusive at the top, allowing the masterminds to escape by attrition.

Commentators are openly venting their frustration, pointing out the stark absurdity of the situation. In contrast to the perceived slowness of the ICI, smaller corruption cases involving minor crimes are often resolved within weeks. Yet, a multi-billion-peso scandal—a crime that directly impacts national infrastructure and public safety—has been allowed to drag on for months, with the ICI now confirming that the investigation is essentially back at square one regarding high-level accountability. This inefficiency has led to stinging accusations that the government officials are engaging in the painful task of “waking up the awakened” (Mahirap gisingin ang gising), a powerful Filipino idiom suggesting that officials know the full truth but are deliberately choosing to ignore it to protect their political allies. The question of whether the administration is simply weak-willed or actively complicit hangs heavy over the Palace.

Furthermore, the entire credibility of the ICI investigation has been undermined by its perceived rivalry with the previously aggressive Senate Blue Ribbon Committee probe. Critics have recalled with sharp anger that the Senate investigation, led by figures who were pursuing a more aggressive, top-down approach, was allegedly “blocked” and ultimately curtailed, an action widely viewed as a deliberate move to clear the way for a more controlled, less threatening executive branch investigation. The ICI probe, in contrast to the Senate hearings, has been criticized for operating under a veil of secrecy, defying calls for a public and transparent process. Critics demand to know why the administration is keeping the investigation private (Ayaw niyong gawin), suggesting that the secrecy is intended to prevent leaks that might force the ICI to acknowledge evidence against the high-ranking figures, including those frequently named in public discussions like “Tambi and Saldi,” who have yet to face any formal summons or charges from the Commission.

The insistence by ICI Executive Director Brian Hosaka that any case filed must be strictly “evidence-based” has also been turned against the Commission. Critics argue that by limiting their evidence search to only what can be found at the lowest levels—contractors and district signatories—the ICI is constructing a deliberately blindered case that cannot possibly indict the higher-ups. This approach, they argue, is not evidence-based justice; it is evidence-limited politics, ensuring that the only people who will face conviction are those who were merely following orders or are too politically weak to defend themselves. The end result is a system that allows the true criminal architects to escape through political manipulation, while the government can claim that some arrests were made, albeit only of the “small fish.”

The final devastating blow to the ICI’s credibility is the perception that the investigation is not only being sabotaged by its own internal strategy but is also being directed by external, unaccountable forces. The reaction video’s host, expressing extreme frustration, even resorted to satirical political commentary, questioning why President Marcos himself appears unable to solve the problem, going so far as to reference past controversial comments implying the President is not listening to the public but is instead taking counsel from “ghosts” of the past. While hyperbolic, this commentary reflects the depth of the public’s exasperation and the profound crisis of confidence in the current government’s ability to administer even basic justice against its own powerful figures. The ICI’s stunning public admission—that after months of investigation, zero high-level officials are being pursued—has solidified the growing national consensus that the investigation is a sham, a choreographed political drama that guarantees impunity for the powerful and a bitter sense of betrayal for the Filipino people who desperately await a genuine accounting for the billions allegedly stolen from their infrastructure funds. The chaos in the executive’s anti-corruption body is now undeniable, proving that the threat to justice comes not from outside, but from the very heart of the system.