*Dr. RodolfoJohn Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD
I cannot read the news about the flood control scam without feeling a deep weight in my chest. Floods have always been part of our lives in this country—rivers that swell, streets that disappear under brown water, families clinging to rooftops waiting for rescue. I have seen it with my own eyes: children wading through waist-deep water just to reach a school that itself is half-submerged, mothers clutching babies while trying to keep their small bundle of rice dry, fathers helplessly watching their tools and tricycles float away. These are not just images from television. They are the lived reality of so many of our kababayan. And when I think of billions of pesos supposedly allocated to protect these families being siphoned off into pockets, I feel not just anger but betrayal.
I was on a Viber call with my former student, Retired Police Brigadier General William Macavinta, who attended my Directorial Staff Course class in the Philippine Public Safety College way back in 2002. He was asking for my advice on one of his subjects, particularly about statistical analysis and inference on a numerical table concerning peace and security in BARMM. As we were talking, a newsflash appeared on my television. The screen showed a live report of rallyists gathered in front of Sarah Discaya’s residence. The footage was jarring—people were throwing stones, shouting in rage, and some were even trying to force their way inside the house. For a moment, I was torn between answering a student’s academic concern and processing what I was seeing on the screen: a vivid reminder that the issue of corruption has already left the halls of Congress and the courts, and has spilled violently into the streets.
That betrayal has already taken form on the streets. The rallies in front of Sarah Discaya’s residence are more than political noise; they are the cries of people who are tired of being cheated. I imagine the faces in those crowds—ordinary workers, students, mothers—people who are not used to protesting but who have been pushed to the edge. Their voices tremble with both courage and desperation. I know how dangerous it is when desperation mixes with anger.
What frightens me even more is how easily anger spreads and mutates. I watched the images from Indonesia where furious citizens looted the home of their finance minister. It reminded me of how close people can come to snapping when they feel ignored and exploited. That moment, now replayed on our social media feeds, is not just foreign news. It is a mirror, and some here are already seeing it as a model. It scares me because once the crowd takes inspiration from rage, it no longer marches for justice but for vengeance.
And in that chaos, I know who will be smiling—the drug lords, the crime syndicates, the shadowy figures who thrive when the nation is distracted. They will take advantage of protests turning violent, not just to embarrass the new leadership of the Philippine National Police, but to create diversions so they can quietly move their drugs, launder their money, or strengthen their networks. I have worked long enough with law enforcement to know how cunning these groups are. They wait for moments exactly like this—when the guardians of peace are forced to defend their own integrity rather than chase after criminals.
Yet the enemies of order are not confined to syndicates alone. History tells us that when chaos shakes the Republic, there are always whispers of military adventurism. Some of those who once raised the banner of a General Emilio Aguinaldo inspired flag, together with certain retired AFP officers and para-military groups, still nurse ambitions or grievances they believe can be resolved only through force or political disruption. In times of turmoil, these groups see opportunity: the chance to project themselves as saviors, to destabilize institutions, or to bargain for influence. Their rhetoric often cloaks itself in patriotism, but their actions can just as easily push the nation deeper into division.
Likewise, there is the danger of police adventurism, with factions inside the organization tempted to defy leadership, exploit public anger, and carve their own political space. In the current climate, the shadows of retired and active generals resurface, whose supporters are restless and emboldened. When corruption erodes faith in civilian authority, it creates an opening for uniformed men—both military and police—to justify stepping beyond their mandate. That kind of adventurism, cloaked as patriotism, is nothing more than opportunism that feeds off the same chaos politicians are deliberately nurturing.
But even beyond the military and police, there are old and familiar forces waiting to seize the moment. The extreme left—the CPP, NPA, and NDF— have long thrived in an environment of discontent. They will use the flood control scam as fresh proof of systemic corruption, rallying the poor and marginalized into their ideological war. In parallel, Muslim separatist groups and terrorist-for-hire networks in Mindanao stand ready to exploit the instability for money, power, or recognition. Where public trust in government is weak, radical groups find fertile ground to recruit and expand. Together, these forces form a dangerous convergence: ideologues, criminals, opportunistic adventurists, and corrupt politicians, all feeding on the same chaos.
And perhaps the most sinister danger of all lies not with syndicates or radicals, but with politicians themselves. I cannot ignore the fact that some of the very figures implicated in the flood control scam have a vested interest in shaking the nation further. Chaos, for them, is not a threat but a weapon. They know that if the public is consumed by unrest, if the streets are filled with anger and fear, then attention is diverted away from their crimes. Their brand is chaos, and in chaos they survive. Instead of answering for billions lost, they hide behind new crises, turning every rally and every spark of violence into a shield that protects them from accountability. It is a cruel irony: those who should be exposed are the ones fanning the flames of disorder to save themselves.
This is why the danger of anarchy feels so real. Corruption already robs us of money and dignity, but when it pushes people to abandon faith in institutions, it steals our very order as a society. I think of the families who have lost everything in floods, and I understand their rage. I think of the policemen who want to do their duty but are trapped in an image crisis not of their making, and I feel their frustration. I think of the young people watching all of this unfold, wondering if their future is already lost to corruption and chaos, and I feel their despair.
And I return to my conversation with General Macavinta. He was poring over tables of numbers that measured peace and security in BARMM, trying to make sense of the trends. His data reflected how fragile order can be in regions scarred by conflict, how quickly stability can unravel when trust in institutions is weak. As I guided him through his analysis, it struck me that the numbers on his page were not so different from the scenes flashing on my screen. BARMM’s struggle to achieve lasting peace despite years of reform is a reminder that governance is only as strong as its integrity. If corruption undermines development, then security becomes fragile, and once security falters, chaos takes root. What Macavinta was studying as statistics, I was watching unfold as reality. Both pointed to the same conclusion: when corruption is left unchecked, it becomes the seedbed of anarchy, whether in Mindanao or in the nation as a whole.
I write this not as an outsider looking in, but as someone who has lived and worked within the system, who has walked with communities devastated by floods, and who has spoken with men in uniform trying to hold the line of order. That is why I say the flood control scam is not just a scandal—it is a spark that could ignite something far more dangerous.
And so here is
the warning: if corruption continues to be treated as normal politics, the day
will come when the streets are no longer controlled by the people’s anger
alone, but by the combined force of syndicates, adventurists, radicals, and
opportunists who have been waiting for their moment. The flood waters may
recede, but the flood of betrayal does not. Government must act now with
courage and honesty, not merely to save reputations but to save the Republic
itself. And the people must not be silent; silence only feeds the very chaos
that threatens to drown us all.
