In a move that is sending shockwaves through the Philippine political establishment, the nation’s new Ombudsman, Boying Remulla, has uncovered and dismantled what is being described as a “masamang binabalak”—an evil plan. With one decisive, sweeping action, Remulla has demanded the courtesy resignations of 204 new employees in his office, exposing a massive, last-ditch “midnight appointment” spree that is now being framed as an attempt to plant a network of internal spies.

The crisis began in the quiet transition of power. On July 27, 2025, former Ombudsman Samuel Martires officially retired. In the days leading up to his departure, a staggering 204 new individuals were hired by the agency. To put this in perspective, the entire Office of the Ombudsman has a staff of approximately 1,200 people. This final hiring batch represented nearly 17% of the agency’s total workforce.

It was a move that went largely unnoticed by the public, a silent, bureaucratic shift. But when Ombudsman Remulla took his new post, his “matalas na mata” (sharp eye) immediately saw the red flag. This was not a routine hiring; it was a Trojan horse.

These 204 hires are now being labeled as “midnight appointments”—a controversial practice where outgoing officials use their final moments of power to install loyalists into permanent government positions. This move, however, is being treated as something far more sinister than simple political patronage. The allegation is that these were not just loyalists, but “espya” (spies), planted with the specific goal of undermining the new leadership and, by extension, the government of President Bongbong Marcos.

The Office of the Ombudsman is the “bantay laban sa mga tiwaling opisyal” (the watchdog against corrupt officials). It is one of the most powerful and sensitive agencies in the country, holding files and investigations on every level of government. The terrifying question posed by this discovery is: “Sino ang magbabantay sa bantay?” (Who will watch the watchdog?)

If 17% of the agency’s staff were, in fact, “spies” loyal to the old guard, the potential for damage would be catastrophic. Sensitive cases could be leaked, investigations could be sabotaged from within, and the integrity of the entire anti-corruption body would be compromised. The “evil plan” was to hamstring the new Ombudsman before he even sat down at his desk.

But the plan’s architects apparently underestimated the new chief.

Ombudsman Remulla did not sit on this information. He did not get bogged down in bureaucratic red tape. Instead, he found a simple, elegant, and powerful weapon: the Civil Service code. He noted that all 204 new hires were still within their “six-month probationary period.”

Citing this probationary status, Remulla declared that he would “ask this 204 people to reapply.” He has requested courtesy resignations from every single one of them. While he framed this publicly as a way for them to “show good faith,” the underlying message was a brilliant and ruthless strategic maneuver.

This reapplication process is, in effect, a loyalty test. It is a filter designed to separate the wheat from the chaff, the legitimate public servants from the alleged spies. As the source material suggests, “Kung malinis ang hangarin, walang dapat katakutan.” (If your intentions are clean, you have nothing to fear.) Those who were simply looking for a job and went through the process honestly have no reason not to reapply.

But for those who were planted with “tinatago” (something to hide), the situation is a trap. “Baka sa mismong proseso ng reapplication lumabas ang baho,” the narrator suggests. (The stench might come out in the reapplication process itself.) They are now faced with two choices: reapply and face a new, much more scrupulous vetting process under Remulla’s “sharp eye,” or quietly fade away, their mission a failure.

This action is precisely the “good thing Remulla saw.” He identified the threat before the 204 hires could become permanent, before they could access sensitive data, and before they could do any real damage. He is cleaning house before even moving in.

The implications of this move are massive. It is a clear declaration of power from the new Ombudsman, signaling a zero-tolerance policy for the political games of the past. He has drawn a line in the sand, asserting his authority over the institution he was appointed to lead. He is also actively seeking assistance from the Civil Service Commission to “assist us in evaluating these spaces,” ensuring the new vetting process is iron-clad.

This entire episode paints a chilling picture of the high-stakes battles being fought within the country’s most trusted institutions. It suggests a deep-seated resistance to the new administration, an “old guard” willing to compromise the integrity of the nation’s watchdog for their own political ends.

The quiet, mass hiring was a dagger aimed at the heart of the new government’s anti-corruption push. But in a fortunate turn of events, the “evil plan” was foiled by a leader who knew to look closer. The purge at the Ombudsman’s office has begun, and it is a stark reminder that in the world of politics, the most dangerous threats often come not from the outside, but from within.