*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
The flood control scandal is not just a story of missing money or ghost projects; it is a reflection of how fragile our justice system has become. I can feel the impatience of the people — their anger, their desperation, their exhaustion from waiting. Everyone wants justice now, to see the guilty punished and the corrupt humiliated. But justice, as I have learned through years of watching our institutions, is not like lightning. It does not strike suddenly. It moves slowly, deliberately, and sometimes painfully.
People often ask, “Why do the guilty always get away?” And the answer, though simple, is difficult to accept: because the law, while created to protect, can also be used to escape. The same law that demands fairness can also shield the powerful. The recent decision in the PDAF case — where the accused were freed from criminal liability but not from civil responsibility — is one such painful example of how truth can be seen, but not fully proven.
In that case, the court acquitted the accused of plunder, saying that the prosecution failed to establish guilt beyond reasonable doubt. There was not enough direct evidence linking them personally to the money stolen from the government. The documents showed funds were diverted, witnesses spoke of deliveries and transactions, but none could point to a moment where Enrile, Reyes, or Napoles was seen taking or ordering the transfer of cash. In short, the crime happened — but the law could not find a person guilty of committing it.
That is the cruel beauty of legal technicality. It demands not just truth, but proof — and proof in its most perfect form.
The court recognized that public funds were lost, but because there was no clear trail leading to the accused, they were absolved criminally. Yet, they were not completely free. The civil aspect of the case remained. They still have the obligation to return what was misused. It is a strange kind of justice — half-won, half-lost. They cannot be imprisoned, but they are not innocent either. The court says, “You did not steal enough to convict, but you owe enough to pay back.”
This split decision — acquitted as criminals but liable as citizens — is a mirror of how justice works in our country. It is precise, technical, and unyielding to emotion. The people’s rage cannot move it. It listens only to evidence. And when evidence is weak, the law stands still.
Now, imagine this same legal reality unfolding in the flood control scandal. Billions of pesos in alleged ghost projects, overpriced contracts, and fake suppliers. The accusations are loud, the outrage louder — but without clear evidence showing who directly benefited, it will all collapse in court. Even if everyone suspects who masterminded it, suspicion does not convict. The law will always demand documentation, signatures, receipts, and testimonies that survive cross-examination.
If these are not ready, the accused will walk free, just like in the PDAF case — free from the criminal aspect, but bound by civil liability. The people will again see the powerful smiling on television, waving their hands in victory, while the Ombudsman quietly files for asset recovery that could take decades. The stolen money might one day be returned, but the people’s faith will not.
I know why many grow impatient with the Ombudsman and the ICI, why they call the process slow and frustrating. But there is a reason for that slowness. Ombudsman Jesus Crispin Remulla is right to take his time. The goal is not just to file cases; it is to file strong ones. Because when cases are weak, they die — and when they die, the corrupt win twice: first when they steal, and again when they are acquitted.
Rushing justice only ensures its failure.
This is why I now understand that a careful Ombudsman is better than a fast one. Justice must be built like a foundation, not like a spectacle. Every piece of evidence must fit perfectly; every witness must stand firm. Because the moment there is a crack, the defense will find it, and the case will collapse. And when it does, the people will once again say, “Wala talagang hustisya sa Pilipinas.”
The PDAF acquittal is a warning. It shows how cunning the corrupt can be — how they play around the law, how they use technicalities as escape hatches. Lawyers will argue that evidence is insufficient, documents unauthenticated, witnesses inconsistent. And because the law respects form as much as substance, these small cracks become escape routes. The powerful do not just steal money — they steal time, patience, and the people’s trust in institutions.
Still, I believe justice can be done — not the kind that rushes to appease, but the kind that arrives complete. Perhaps that is what Ombudsman Remulla is trying to build: cases that will not only indict, but convict; prosecutions that will not just make headlines, but make history.
Yes, the law is complicated. Yes, it moves slowly. But justice built on impatience is fragile. Justice built on evidence endures.
And so I look at the flood control scandal, and I see the same test our country faced with the PDAF case. If we fail again — if the evidence is incomplete, if the filing is premature — the result will be the same: freedom without redemption, punishment without prison. But if this time we learn from history, if we prepare our cases not as reactions but as blueprints of truth, then perhaps justice will no longer be half-won.
In the end, the true measure of justice is not how fast it arrives, but how long it stands. The PDAF acquittal shows how easy it is to escape criminal liability when the law is not prepared. Let it not be the same for the flood control scandal. Let this be the moment when the law finally learns to be both precise and brave — where no technicality can hide a thief, and no corrupt man can walk free behind the armor of doubt.
Because when justice is complete — not divided between civil and criminal, not delayed nor diluted — that is when the people will finally believe again. That is when justice will stop being a promise, and start being real.
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