*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD
I remember one quiet afternoon, sitting in my study, when an old friend—a retired government prosecutor—told me, “Dok Jan", the most dangerous man in government is not the corrupt one, but the one who refuses to be silent.” Those words echoed deeply in my mind when I heard that President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. had appointed Jesus Crispin “Boying” Remulla as the new Ombudsman. In that moment, I realized something few had the courage to admit—this appointment was not merely political; it was moral, even prophetic.
Remulla is not a stranger to controversy. He is, in many ways, the kind of leader who walks into the storm rather than around it. His calm voice may often be mistaken for arrogance, but behind that tone is an unflinching determination to speak truth—even if it means standing alone. His entry into the Office of the Ombudsman is not an act of convenience, but of conviction. It is a decision that sends shivers down the spine of those who thrive in the darkness of bureaucratic corruption.
Many will call him a kontrabida, and rightly so. For in a nation where the villains often wear the mask of humility, the true heroes are those who dare to expose the script. Remulla’s appointment makes him the natural antagonist of every official who has mastered the art of deception—those who hide behind technicalities, committee hearings, or delayed investigations. The moment he sits behind that desk, he becomes the symbol of accountability that many fear.
The President’s choice of Remulla is not without political consequence. In fact, it is one of his boldest moves yet. It sends a clear message that the battle against corruption will not be selective nor sentimental. For those who served in the previous administration—many of whom still wield influence and ambitions for the 2028 elections—Remulla is a thorn, a living reminder that the era of impunity must end. His mere presence in the Ombudsman’s office is an inconvenience to those whose hands remain unwashed by the moral soap of public duty.
It is no secret that the shadow of the Duterte administration still looms heavily over our political landscape. The unspoken alliances, the unfinished business, and the silent ambitions—especially that of Vice President Sara Duterte’s possible presidential bid—are all part of the unending political theatre. But with Remulla’s appointment, the curtains have been drawn open. Every hidden hand, every buried file, every whispered transaction suddenly risks exposure. He stands as a thorn, not because he seeks to destroy, but because he refuses to let rot be perfumed by power.
Yet beyond politics and strategy lies something deeper—something prophetic. To call this appointment prophetic is to recognize that it is not merely an act of governance but a gesture of foresight and moral courage. Prophets, after all, were not sent to please kings but to warn them. They were not loved because they were wrong, but hated because they were right too early. In the same way, President Marcos’s choice of Remulla seems to anticipate the turbulence ahead, knowing that truth-tellers never win applause from the guilty.
The appointment is prophetic because it reflects a higher kind of wisdom—one that understands that justice often begins with discomfort. It foresees resistance but embraces it as part of the nation’s purification. Just like the prophets of old who spoke against the corruption of temples and thrones, Remulla’s mandate is to disturb the silence that protects the wicked. It is a moral act wrapped in political irony—an imperfect man chosen to cleanse a tainted system.
There is also a poetic truth in this prophecy: that sometimes, divine irony chooses the unlikely. Just as Moses stuttered yet delivered commandments, or David sinned yet restored faith, Remulla’s flaws do not disqualify him—they humanize him. The prophetic essence lies in the paradox that God—or destiny—often uses those least expected to confront the corruption that many have learned to tolerate. His appointment tells us that even in a cynical age, truth can still be summoned, and courage can still be chosen.
The selection of the Ombudsman is not about popularity or public acceptance. It is about who can deliver swift justice—who can cleanse the government of its corrupt pillars and hidden networks. Remulla might be disliked by many, perhaps even by the majority, but he is not there to please; he is there to perform. The Ombudsman’s office is not a stage for applause but a battlefield of conscience. From this moment forward, every directive he issues will meet criticism, opposition, and noise—but that is expected. What will matter most is not how loudly his critics shout, but how firmly justice stands. His task is not to charm the crowd, but to jail the giants of corruption, to dismantle the invisible empires that have long devoured our nation’s moral core.
As Ombudsman, Remulla now holds one of the most sacred responsibilities in our democracy—the authority to investigate, to prosecute, and to protect the Filipino people from the very government meant to serve them. His role is not to please politicians but to remind them that public office is not a privilege but a borrowed trust. His duty is to make the powerful uncomfortable and the righteous proud.
Yes, there will be critics. There will be those who will say that Remulla is partisan, vindictive, or too close to Malacañang. But let us be honest—every reformer, every truth-teller, every man who disturbs the complacent system has been branded the same way. History is filled with those who were mocked for doing what was right before they were honored for having done so.
President Marcos, in choosing Remulla, has taken a calculated yet courageous step. It is a move that may cost him political alliances but will earn him moral respect. In a time when corruption seeps through the cracks of our institutions like floodwater in broken drainage, what we need is not a diplomat, but a disinfectant. And Remulla, whether one loves or hates him, is exactly that—a disinfectant to the political infection we have long tolerated.
So let those who fear exposure tremble. Let those who once used power as a shield now feel the weight of justice as a mirror. For in the days to come, the Office of the Ombudsman will no longer be a quiet corner of forgotten cases—it will be the battlefield of conscience. And at its front line stands Jesus Crispin Remulla, the kontrabida we need to save the republic from its own silence—the prophetic thorn that will finally make power bleed truth.
