*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
As I watched a witness testify during the Senate impeachment hearing, broadcast live before Filipinos here and around the world, I was struck not only by what she said but by what her testimony seemed to reveal about the release of the controversial confidential funds.
Listening to her explain her participation, I found myself asking a disturbing question: Was I witnessing how an ordinary government employee could be used—knowingly or otherwise—to enable the release, processing, or liquidation of public funds surrounded by serious controversy?
I am not declaring that the witness committed a crime. That determination belongs to the proper authorities after the evidence has been examined and due process observed. But her testimony presented a painful picture of how a government transaction may pass through many hands while responsibility becomes increasingly difficult to locate.
May nag-utos. May naghanda ng dokumento. May pumirma. May nagproseso. May naglabas o tumanggap ng pera. Yet when questions are finally asked, each participant may say that someone else made the decision.
“I was only following instructions.”
“I merely received the documents.”
“I was told that everything had already been approved.”
“Trabaho ko lamang ang ginawa ko.”
But if everyone merely followed instructions, who protected the public funds? If everyone signed without asking questions, who performed the duty owed to the Filipino people? And if a government employee knew—or had sufficient reason to know—that something was irregular, could that person still hide behind obedience?
Habang pinakikinggan ko ang kanyang pagsagot, I began thinking about the people we seldom discuss whenever corruption is exposed. We immediately focus on the powerful official, alleged mastermind, or person believed to have benefited most.
But corruption is rarely accomplished by one person alone.
A powerful official may conceive the plan, but someone must prepare the documents. Someone must process the request. Someone must certify the transaction. Someone must release the funds. Someone must conceal the irregularity or remain silent when questions begin.
These are the people who open the door from the inside.
While continuing to watch the hearing, I scrolled through social media and encountered these powerful words spoken by Pasig City Mayor Vico Sotto:
“Successful ka nga, magulo naman ’yung pamilya mo. Mayaman ka nga, galing naman sa nakaw ’yung kayamanan mo.”
The words struck me deeply.
For a moment, I stopped listening to the noise of politics.
Napaisip ako.
What is the meaning of success when the wealth that feeds one family may have come from money stolen from thousands of other families? What is the value of a beautiful home when its walls may have been built from funds intended for classrooms, hospitals, roads, flood-control projects, and food for the poor?
Mayaman ka nga—but how many children went to sleep hungry because public money failed to reach them?
Successful ka nga—but how many communities remained underwater because the funds intended to protect them disappeared into private pockets?
Powerful ka nga—but how many public servants had to surrender their conscience, alter documents, ignore violations, and remain silent so that you could stay powerful?
Behind every unexplained fortune may be a story that was never told. Behind every questionable government transaction may be a document someone knowingly signed, an inspection someone deliberately failed to conduct, a payment someone willingly processed, and a telephone call someone was too afraid—or too willing—to refuse.
The telephone rang on the desk of a Customs officer late one afternoon.
Before him were documents covering a shipment with an apparent violation. The declaration did not correspond with the reported contents. The discrepancies required examination and possibly the detention of the shipment.
The law was clear.
Then he answered the call.
“Pare, baka puwedeng arborin na natin iyong violation. Kaibigan natin ang may-ari.”
The voice belonged to someone powerful—someone who had helped him before, someone who could influence whether he would be promoted, transferred, or allowed to remain in his position.
There was no direct threat. Walang perang inialok. Walang tahasang utos na labagin niya ang batas. It was presented merely as a favor between friends.
The officer looked at the family photograph on his desk. His wife was smiling beside him. He remembered the tuition fees, unpaid bills, and ageing parents who still depended upon him.
He also remembered the oath he had taken when he entered government service.
For several seconds, he held the documents in his hands.
“Sir, paano po ito?” his subordinate asked.
The officer slowly placed the papers on the table.
“Palusutin na.”
Only two words.
No gun was fired. Nobody shouted. No alarm sounded inside the building. Walang nakitang dugo at walang taong bumagsak sa sahig.
Yet in those two words, the law was quietly defeated.
Not because there was no law, but because the person entrusted to enforce it allowed influence, gratitude, ambition, and fear to become more powerful than duty.
That evening, he returned home and ate with his family. His children talked about school. His wife noticed his silence and asked whether something was wrong.
“Pagod lang ako,” he answered.
But somewhere inside him, something had already changed.
The first unlawful favor is usually the most difficult. The second becomes easier. Sa ikatlo, hindi na gaanong nanginginig ang kamay. Sa ikaapat, marunong ka nang umiwas ng tingin. Eventually, what once disturbed the conscience becomes an ordinary part of the working day.
Soon, the officer may no longer need to receive a telephone call. He already knows whose shipments should not be inspected, whose violations should be ignored, and whose names must never appear in an adverse report.
This is how an otherwise ordinary person slowly becomes an enabler.
In another government office, an Immigration officer encountered foreign nationals carrying visas that raised serious questions. The details did not match the information in the system. May mga entry na tila binago. May mga sagot na hindi nagtutugma. There was sufficient reason to hold them for further examination.
Before the interview could continue, a supervisor called him aside.
“Mga bisita iyan ng isang importanteng tao. Huwag mo nang pahirapan.”
The officer knew that a whispered instruction could not transform a questionable visa into a genuine one. But he had seen what happened to employees who refused to cooperate. Alam niya kung paano inililipat ang matapang na officer at sinisira ang career ng taong tinatawag nilang pasaway o nagmamagaling.
He had a child in college, a housing loan, and a family that depended upon his salary.
He returned to the counter.
One by one, he stamped the passports.
Each sound of the stamp seemed routine. But every stamp opened the country’s door a little wider.
If those foreign nationals were later discovered to have entered using fraudulent documents, the public would ask who they were and why they came.
But would we remember to ask who allowed them to enter?
Who noticed the irregularities? Who made the call? Who gave the instruction? Who stamped the passports despite knowing that something was wrong?
Elsewhere, a government employee received an application supported by a birth certificate presenting a foreign national as a Filipino citizen. At first glance, the document appeared official. But the supposed parents could not be properly traced, the address was questionable, and the delayed registration demanded deeper verification.
The employee wanted to return the application.
Then someone approached her desk.
“Ayos na iyan. Na-verify na sa taas.”
She knew that it had not been adequately verified. The document was merely a piece of paper, yet it could become the foundation of a manufactured identity. Once accepted, it could be used to obtain other documents and eventually support an application for a Philippine passport.
She remembered a former colleague who had questioned another suspicious transaction. That colleague was isolated and later transferred. Walang nagtanggol sa kanya. Those who privately agreed remained silent when their support was needed most.
The employee looked around the office. Everyone appeared busy. Some may have known. Others had mastered the bureaucratic art of not noticing.
She signed.
Another employee processed the document. Another authenticated the record. Another approved the application. Eventually, a Philippine passport could be issued.
Maraming pumirma, ngunit walang gustong managot.
When the fraud is exposed, attention naturally turns to the foreign national. But that person did not personally operate every government computer. Hindi siya ang nag-authenticate, nagproseso, at pumirma sa bawat approval.
There were people inside the system who made the fraud possible.
Some may have received money. Others may have acted because of pressure, ambition, or fear. A few may simply have told themselves:
“Wala naman akong ginawa. Hindi lang ako nagsalita.”
But sometimes, silence is precisely the assistance that corruption needs.
Any fraudulent, ghost, or substandard flood-control transaction could not succeed without people who prepared the plans, manipulated the bidding, approved questionable variations, certified accomplishments, conducted dishonest inspections, processed payments, or deliberately ignored nonexistent work.
Likewise, any misuse of confidential funds would require people to request, approve, release, receive, document, or liquidate the money.
Hindi kusang gumagalaw ang pera. Someone signs. Someone processes. Someone certifies. Someone receives. Someone remains silent.
May makapangyarihan sa itaas na nagbibigay ng utos, but there are enablers below who transform an unlawful instruction into an official government action.
The powerful person provides the influence. The enabler provides the signature.
The mastermind creates the plan. The enabler gives it a government stamp.
The corrupt principal knocks on the door. The enabler opens it from the inside.
We have normalized the word arbor as though it were always harmless.
“Arborin na ang violation.”
“Pakawalan na natin.”
“Kaibigan natin iyan.”
“May tumawag mula sa taas.”
“Huwag mo nang palakihin.”
In ordinary life, asking for a favor may be an expression of friendship and pakikisama. But when the favor requires a public servant to disregard the law, abandon a legal duty, or grant a privilege unavailable to an ordinary citizen, it is no longer simple pakikisama.
It is corruption spoken in a friendly voice.
Hindi lahat ng corruption ay dumarating sa loob ng envelope. Sometimes, it arrives through a telephone call. Sometimes, there is no cash payment because the currency is political protection, promotion, appointment, gratitude, influence, or fear.
The caller does not have to say, “Break the law for me.”
He merely reminds the officer of their relationship.
The person receiving the call understands the message. Alam niyang maaaring may gantimpala ang pagsunod. Alam din niyang may maaaring mawala kapag tumanggi siya.
Not every enabler begins as an evil person.
Some are parents desperately trying to keep their jobs. Some are ordinary employees frightened of powerful superiors. Many may have entered government as idealistic young public servants who sincerely wanted to help the country. They arrived wearing inexpensive clothes, carrying packed lunches, and believing that honest work would eventually be recognized.
Then came the first request.
“Pirmahan mo na. Formality lang naman.”
The next one followed.
“Huwag mo nang i-report. Aayusin na sa taas.”
Then another:
“Sumunod ka na lang kung gusto mong tumagal dito.”
Little by little, conscience is not killed. It is merely asked to remain silent.
At first, the employee cannot sleep. Later, he learns to sleep by telling himself that everybody does it. He says he did not receive money. He says he was not the mastermind. He says someone else would have signed if he had refused.
Hanggang isang araw, hindi na niya makilala ang taong nakikita niya sa salamin.
That is one of corruption’s greatest tragedies. It does not only steal public funds. It steals good people from themselves.
There are, however, more frightening situations in which a person is placed inside government from the beginning not to serve the people, but to protect those who worked for the appointment.
May mga taong iniluluklok sa sensitibong posisyon hindi dahil sila ang pinakamarunong, pinakamatapat, o pinakakarapat-dapat. They are placed there because corrupt interests believe they can be controlled.
There may even be syndicates willing to spend enormous amounts to place chosen individuals inside strategic government offices. They approach influential personalities, mobilize intermediaries, finance political efforts, and cultivate connections.
Para sa kanila, hindi ito simpleng gastos. It is an investment in protection.
They are not merely bribing someone already inside government. They are placing their own gatekeeper at the door.
Once their person is in position, they have someone who knows which inspection can be stopped, which record can be altered, which operation can be leaked, which investigation can be delayed, and which subordinate can be pressured into silence.
The salary may come from the Filipino people, but the loyalty remains with those who facilitated the appointment.
The office belongs to the Republic, but its authority is quietly used to protect a private interest.
This is corruption at its most dangerous. Hindi na lamang nito binibili ang isang desisyon. Kinokontrol nito ang mismong posisyon kung saan ginagawa ang mga desisyon.
It does not merely violate the law. It captures the institution entrusted to enforce it.
That is why an investigation into organized corruption must not end with the questionable transaction. It should also examine how responsible officials obtained their positions, who endorsed them, who lobbied for their appointment, who financed the effort, and who repeatedly benefited from their decisions.
Hindi sapat na tanungin kung sino ang pumirma. We must also ask who placed the pen in that person’s hand—and what protection was expected in return.
This may explain why we sometimes wonder how a person who appears to know so little about the work could occupy such a high and sensitive position.
Bakit tila hindi niya nauunawaan ang mandato ng sarili niyang opisina? Bakit hindi siya nagtatanong kahit malinaw na may irregularity?
At first, we may call it simple incompetence. Sasabihin nating hindi siya kwalipikado, kulang sa karanasan, o mangmang sa tungkuling ipinagkatiwala sa kanya.
But sometimes, that may be precisely why the person was chosen.
Hindi siya inilagay upang mahusay na mamuno. He may have been placed there because he could be controlled. Someone else understands the operation, prepares the documents, and decides which contract must be approved, which violation must be ignored, and which funds must be released.
Ang nakapuwesto ay kailangan lamang pumirma.
He becomes the face of authority without exercising independent judgment. He carries the title and occupies the office, but the real decisions are made by the patron, operator, syndicate, or appointing authority behind him.
Incompetence then becomes useful to corruption.
But public office cannot be reduced to mechanically signing documents prepared by others. The greater the authority, the greater the responsibility to understand, examine, question, and refuse.
Hindi lahat ng incompetent official ay corrupt. Not every mistake is part of a criminal plan, and no one should be accused without credible evidence.
But when an unqualified individual is deliberately placed in a strategic position, repeatedly approves transactions favoring the same interests, ignores clear warnings, and consistently obeys those who secured the appointment, the pattern deserves an impartial investigation.
We must ask not only, “Why does this official appear to know so little?”
We must also ask, “Who benefits from keeping this official uninformed, dependent, and obedient?”
Baka ang inaakala nating kahinaan ay bahagi pala ng disenyo. The person may never have been appointed to govern, regulate, or protect the public.
The person may have been appointed merely to enable the plan of those who placed him there.
Accept it or not, there are enablers within our government offices.
Hindi ibig sabihin nito na corrupt ang lahat ng public servants. The great majority may be honest employees who work quietly, follow the law, and struggle to support their families. But we must stop pretending that enabling exists only in a few isolated agencies or during spectacular national scandals.
From the smallest local office to the most powerful national agency, there may be people willing to ignore violations, manipulate documents, leak information, process questionable payments, or use their positions to protect political and private interests.
Some are already inside. Others are deliberately appointed, promoted, transferred, or strategically positioned because powerful personalities and syndicates need someone they can call, control, and command.
We must prevent enablers from infecting our civil service.
Parang sakit, enabling can begin with one compromised employee. When tolerated, it spreads from one desk to another and from one signature to the next, until an entire office learns that silence is rewarded, obedience is safer than integrity, and unlawful instructions must never be questioned.
The honest employee then becomes the outsider.
Ang tumatanggi ang tinatawag na pasaway. Ang nagtatanong ang pinaghihinalaan. Ang nagsasabi ng katotohanan ang inililipat, samantalang ang sunud-sunuran ang napo-promote.
That is how corruption captures an institution—not always by corrupting everyone, but by placing enough enablers in strategic positions and frightening honest people into silence.
Preventing this infection requires more than prosecuting enablers after the damage has been done. Government must strengthen the screening, appointment, promotion, monitoring, and accountability of people assigned to sensitive positions. It must examine conflicts of interest, suspicious relationships, repeated interventions, and patterns of decisions consistently benefiting the same people.
Most importantly, the civil service must protect those who refuse to be used.
An institution does not collapse only when corrupt people enter it. It also collapses when honest people discover that the system protects the enabler more than the person who says no.
Marami na tayong batas na maaaring gamitin laban sa mga partikular na gawain ng enablers. We have laws against graft, falsification, plunder, money laundering, and obstruction of justice. Depending on the evidence, an enabler may already be liable as a principal, conspirator, accomplice, accessory, or participant in a specific offense.
But many still escape because investigations often concentrate only on the most visible personality. The people who prepared the documents, moved the money, provided protection, or deliberately looked away may quietly remain in government—ready to serve the next corrupt principal.
The time has come for Congress to consider an Anti-Corruption Enablers Act—not to criminalize honest mistakes or frighten ordinary employees, but to hold accountable those who knowingly lend their office, signature, influence, access, professional expertise, or deliberate silence to corruption.
Corrupt enabling may be defined as the knowing and intentional use of one’s public position, authority, influence, professional capacity, access, signature, information, resources, or deliberate violation of a specific legal duty to facilitate, protect, conceal, legitimize, or permit a corrupt transaction.
The law must be fair and precise. Hindi dapat maparusahan ang isang inosenteng empleyado dahil lamang nagtrabaho siya sa parehong opisina. Honest mistakes, ordinary negligence, lawful professional services, friendships, and political associations must not automatically become crimes.
There must be credible evidence of knowledge, intention, material assistance, conscious protection, or deliberate refusal to perform a clearly established legal duty.
The law should protect employees who reject unlawful instructions, preserve evidence, report corruption, and testify against powerful people. It should distinguish a frightened subordinate who voluntarily cooperates with investigators from a willing participant who repeatedly uses public authority to protect wrongdoing.
But when deliberate enabling is proven, accountability must follow the entire chain—not only the subordinate who signed at the bottom, but also the powerful person who gave the instruction from the top.
Hindi maaaring ang mababang empleyado lamang ang managot habang ang nag-utos, nag-pressure, nagbayad, o nangakong magbibigay ng proteksiyon ay malayang nakalalakad.
A government appointment is not a private debt. The appointing authority does not own the appointee’s signature, conscience, or official discretion.
An appointment should never be repaid through unlawful obedience.
If corrupt enabling is clearly defined and penalized, a person offered a strategic position may finally ask:
“Why am I being appointed? Is it because of my competence—or because someone expects me to sign what an honest and knowledgeable person would refuse?”
That question alone may save an institution.
Under my advocacy of Integritocracy, integrity does not merely mean refusing to steal. It also means refusing to lend one’s authority, silence, signature, or professional competence to those who steal.
We need Customs officers who will hold a questionable shipment despite the telephone call. We need Immigration officers who will refuse to stamp fraudulent documents regardless of who is waiting beyond the counter. We need civil registrars and passport personnel who will protect the integrity of Filipino identity and citizenship, even when powerful people demand otherwise.
We must protect these public servants when they choose what is right.
Napakadaling sabihin sa isang empleyado na maging matapang. But courage becomes unbearably expensive when an honest person knows that refusing an unlawful order may cause the family to lose its only source of income.
If we demand courage, the government must provide protection. There must be secure reporting systems, safeguards against retaliation, preservation of evidence, and real consequences for superiors who pressure subordinates to violate the law.
One day, another telephone will ring on another government desk.
On the table may be a questionable shipment, a fraudulent visa, a suspicious birth certificate, a passport application, a rigged contract, or a payment for a project that was never properly completed.
The employee will answer.
A familiar voice will say:
“Kaibigan, baka puwedeng arborin na natin.”
The employee may look at the family photograph on the desk. He may think about his children, his loans, and the career he spent years building. His hands may tremble because he knows what refusal could cost.
But he will also remember the country whose seal appears on the documents before him.
He will remember that his children must inherit that country.
And with tears in his eyes and fear in his heart, he may finally find the courage to say:
“Pasensiya na po. Hindi ko po kayang gawin. Labag po ito sa batas.”
He may lose the favor of a powerful person.
He may lose a promotion.
He may even lose his position.
But when he returns home that evening and his child runs toward him, he will still possess something corruption could not purchase—his name, his honor, and the right to look into his child’s eyes without shame.
Because corruption does not begin only when someone steals.
It also begins when someone who could have closed the door quietly chooses to open it.
The criminal may be the hand that knocks.
The enabler is the hand that unlocks the door from the inside.
And unless we hold both hands accountable, corruption will always know whom to call.
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