Who Is the Guiltiest? The Contractor, the DPWH, the Lawmakers—or the Journalists Who Looked Away?

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Corruption in the Philippines has never been a simple story of villains and victims. It is a web—a tangled, sticky net of complicity—where one hand washes the other, and where accountability often disappears in the fog of bureaucratic red tape. But when taxpayers demand answers, the burning question remains: Who is the guiltiest?

Is it the contractor accused of substandard work? The DPWH officials who approve and monitor? The lawmakers who push budget insertions? Or the journalists who had all the clues but failed to dig deeper?

The uncomfortable truth: guilt is shared. Yet, in this tragic theater of corruption, the roles differ, and the stakes could not be higher.

The Contractor: The Hands That Build—or Destroy

Every scandal starts with a promise: a bridge to connect isolated barangays, a flood control project to prevent another Ondoy, a road meant to drive economic growth. On paper, the contractor is the lifeline. In practice, too many become the very choke point of progress.

When allegations of substandard materials arise—hollow blocks crumbling under pressure, steel reinforcements cut thinner than the blueprint demands, drainage projects that flood instead of protect—the contractor becomes the visible villain.

But contractors rarely operate in isolation. They bid for projects, often under rules they already know are bent. They cut corners, yes, but only because someone higher up allows them to.

The DPWH Officials: The Gatekeepers Who Look the Other Way

If contractors are the hands, DPWH officials are supposed to be the guardians. Their mandate is clear: vet, approve, monitor, and ensure public funds are spent as intended. Yet history shows a pattern—too many projects pass inspection despite glaring defects.

Audits by the Commission on Audit (COA) regularly flag anomalous projects: ghost roads, incomplete structures marked as “100% finished,” and overpriced contracts. The DPWH, one of the most well-funded agencies, has long been in the crosshairs of corruption probes.

The officials who sign off on these projects are not merely negligent—they are complicit. Without their rubber stamps, the rot could not spread.

The Lawmakers: Masters of the “Budget Insertion”

Then come the power brokers—the lawmakers who wield the “power of the purse.” They do not pour cement or check blueprints, but their fingerprints are all over the crime scene.

Through budget insertions, lawmakers redirect billions into pet projects, often in their own districts. Some insertions are legitimate—local governments do need roads, schools, and health centers. But far too often, these insertions are political trophies, routed through favored contractors with cozy ties to both the legislator and the implementing agency.

This is how we end up with a kaleidoscope of questionable projects: overbuilt waiting sheds in sleepy towns, farm-to-market roads that lead nowhere, or flood control projects that line rivers but fail to prevent inundation.

Lawmakers may never touch the cement, but they set the stage for corruption to thrive.

The Journalists: The Silent Witnesses

Here lies perhaps the most uncomfortable question: What about the journalists?

Reporters are often the first to arrive on site, to interview contractors, engineers, lawmakers, and residents. They capture the ribbon-cuttings, the photo ops, the soundbites of accountability. But when evidence of corruption is glaring—roads that crack within months, funds that vanish without explanation—why are too many stories left at the surface?

True journalism is not stenography. It is not enough to relay what officials say; it demands cross-checking, investigating, uncovering the truth even when powerful figures threaten backlash.

When journalists fail to follow the trail—whether out of fear, convenience, or compromise—they become part of the chain of guilt. Their silence, intentional or not, protects the corrupt and robs the public of the truth.

Shared Guilt, Unequal Burden

So who is the guiltiest?

The contractor, for betraying the public trust in the most tangible way.

The DPWH officials, for failing in their duty to protect public funds and lives.

The lawmakers, for manipulating the system to serve political interests.

The journalists, for turning away from the hard questions when the nation needed them most.

Each carries guilt, but not equally. The contractor’s crime is concrete—literally. The DPWH’s crime is institutional negligence. The lawmakers’ crime is systemic manipulation. The journalists’ crime is one of omission, but it is dangerous nonetheless, for without watchdogs, corruption festers unchecked.

The Cost of Complicity

The cost of these intersecting failures is not abstract. It is measured in collapsed bridges, flooded homes, wasted billions, and lost lives. When a poorly built road cracks, it is not just a crack in cement—it is a crack in public trust.

And when all these actors evade accountability, the heaviest burden falls on the ordinary Filipino, who pays the taxes, suffers the consequences, and is left asking the same bitter question:

Who is the guiltiest?

Perhaps the more urgent truth is this: until all are held accountable—the contractor, the official, the lawmaker, and yes, the journalist—the cycle will never end.

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