The political climate in the Philippines has reached a boiling point, manifesting in a raw and volatile confrontation on the streets of Manila that has left the administration scrambling for damage control. In a scene that starkly contrasts the polished press releases of the palace, Department of the Interior and Local Government (DILG) Secretary Jonvic Remulla found himself in the eye of a storm during a recent visit to Mendiola. What was intended to be a routine inspection of security protocols turned into a chaotic display of public dissatisfaction, as a massive crowd of protesters rained down expletives and hostile chants upon the official.

Witnesses at the scene described the atmosphere as electric with tension. As Secretary Remulla approached the barricades, he was met not with applause, but with a deafening chorus of “Addict!” and “Thief!”—labels that reflect the deep-seated mistrust and anger simmering among the populace. The hostility was palpable, with protesters challenging the Secretary’s bravery, taunting him for hiding behind layers of police protection and bodyguards. “You are only brave because you are the DILG Secretary! Try facing us without your goons!” one protester screamed, a sentiment that echoed through the crowd. The incident highlights a growing disconnect between the government’s narrative of stability and the reality on the ground, where citizens feel emboldened to voice their grievances directly to the faces of those in power.

However, the drama in the streets is merely a symptom of a much larger malady infecting the highest echelons of government. While Remulla battles the optics of public unrest, a more calculated and potentially devastating storm is brewing in the halls of the Senate and the newly formed Independent Commission on Infrastructure (ICI). Veteran broadcaster and journalist Ted Failon has launched a scathing critique of the ongoing investigation into the multi-billion peso “flood control scam,” raising uncomfortable questions about why certain “big fish” appear to be immune from scrutiny.

At the heart of Failon’s inquiry is the glaring absence of key figures in the ICI’s subpoena list. The investigation, led by retired Justice Andres Reyes Jr., was championed by the administration as a “no-nonsense” purge of corruption. Yet, testimonies from witnesses like “Bernardo” have implicated individuals with powerful connections, including a certain “Usec Trigave Olivar” of the Department of Education (DepEd). Olivar, who previously served as a staff member for prominent Senators Bong Revilla, Sonny Angara, and Edgardo Angara, is alleged to have brokered deals involving a staggering 15% commission on infrastructure projects. Despite these serious accusations and the witness’s sworn affidavits, neither the Senate Blue Ribbon Committee nor the ICI has made significant moves to compel Olivar’s presence.

The allegations take an even darker turn with the mention of “Adrian Bersamin” and a mysterious transfer of cash. Failon highlighted a narrative originally brought to light by Senator Ping Lacson, involving an armored van that supposedly delivered 2 billion pesos in cash to the basement of the Diamond Hotel. This transaction is rumored to be linked to the “Office of the Executive Secretary,” currently occupied by Lucas Bersamin. The implication that such a massive sum of money—allegedly part of the “unprogrammed appropriations” meant for public works—was moved in cash has sent shockwaves through the investigative community. Yet, despite the gravity of these claims, there has been silence from the ICI regarding any summons for the Bersamin family or their associates.

Failon’s commentary strikes at the core of the public’s frustration: the perception of selective justice. “Why is the ICI not calling them?” Failon demanded on his program, pointing out that while lower-level engineers and bureaucrats are being paraded as culprits, the masterminds remain in the shadows. He questioned the role of Budget Secretary Amenah Pangandaman, noting her past professional relationship with Senator Angara, and asked why the swift release of Special Allotment Release Orders (SARO) for these questionable projects hasn’t triggered a more aggressive probe into the Department of Budget and Management (DBM).

The narrative emerging is one of a “compromised” investigation, where the scope is carefully managed to protect political allies while sacrificing expendable pawns. The witness Bernardo, who is currently applying for state witness status, has provided a treasure trove of information, yet critics fear that his testimony is being “cherry-picked” to avoid implicating the current administration’s inner circle. The fear is that the investigation will end with the prosecution of a few mid-level officials, while the architects of the scheme—the ones who allegedly pocketed billions intended for flood control—continue to walk the corridors of power.

As the cries of “Thief!” fade from Mendiola, they are replaced by the steady, rhythmic banging of the gavel in inquiry rooms that seem designed to conceal as much as they reveal. The public is watching closely, no longer content with scapegoats. The challenge now lies with the ICI and the Marcos administration: will they prove their critics wrong and pursue the evidence wherever it leads, or will the “Big Fish” once again slip through the net, leaving the Filipino people to drown in the consequences of unchecked corruption? The clock is ticking, and the people are losing patience.