The Deluge of Deceit: How Corruption Is Drowning Filipino Schools

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

The Philippines is currently caught in a relentless cycle of climate extremes, with recent catastrophic floods serving as a harsh indictment of a government infrastructure system riddled with corruption. After a brutal heatwave forced thousands of students out of their classrooms, massive rains and widespread flooding have now submerged communities, leaving a trail of destruction that has not only disrupted lives but has also exposed the questionable flood control projects that were once touted as a solution.

During the president's State of the Nation Address (SONA), a strong warning was issued to those responsible for substandard and “ghost” projects. The president revealed that a P545-billion budget for flood control projects over the past three years has been marred by irregularities, with a staggering P100 billion of that amount going to just 15 contractors. The Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) has since confirmed the existence of "ghost projects," particularly in Bulacan, a province that has received billions in flood control funds yet remains one of the most flood-prone areas in the country.

Investigations have uncovered egregious examples of this plundering of public funds. In Baliuag, Bulacan, a P55-million concrete river wall was paid for and reported as completed, yet no work had been done. Similarly, a P96.3-million river-protection structure in Calumpit was also found to be non-existent. The Senate Blue Ribbon Committee has launched its own probe, with senators questioning the blatant mismatch between where flood control money is allocated and where it is most needed. They have also highlighted how contracts were awarded to undercapitalized and allegedly incompetent firms, leading to projects that were doomed to fail from the start.

Recent reports have also revealed a troubling link between these contractors and top government officials. Senate President Chiz Escudero admitted that his top campaign donor in the 2022 elections, Lawrence Lubiano, is the president of Centerways Construction and Development Inc., one of the top contractors that received over P5 billion in flood control projects. While Escudero has denied any involvement in the awarding of these contracts, his ties to the firm have raised questions. Similarly, Senator Joel Villanueva has come under scrutiny as his campaign received a P20-million donation from New San Jose Builders Inc., a company owned by a former housing secretary who was later appointed as presidential adviser for Pasig River rehabilitation. These revelations come as the Commission on Elections (Comelec) is now probing campaign contributions from contractors, which are prohibited by the Omnibus Election Code.

The controversy surrounding flooding in the Philippines also involves major private corporations like San Miguel Corporation (SMC). While SMC has initiated its own "Better Rivers PH" flood mitigation and river dredging program, its large-scale infrastructure projects have also been cited as potential contributors to the problem. Environmental advocates and some local communities have voiced concerns that the company's projects, such as the New Manila International Airport (NMIA) in Bulacan, are worsening floods. Critics argue that the airport's location blocks the natural outflow of river systems and that the destruction of mangrove forests during construction has removed a crucial natural buffer against floods and storm surges.

This systemic corruption and controversial development have had a devastating impact on the education sector. As massive floods overwhelm communities, schools are often the first to be submerged, with classes suspended and buildings converted into evacuation centers. The students who have just returned to a modified school calendar to avoid the intense heat are now facing new learning disruptions due to the incessant rains and flooding. For children who rely on in-person classes, the consequences are severe, deepening educational inequality and setting them further back in their studies.

While the government is now scrambling to hold corrupt officials and contractors accountable, the private sector has stepped up to fill the gap. San Miguel Corporation's "Better Rivers PH" initiative has been quietly working to desilt and clean major rivers, a concrete effort that stands in stark contrast to the government's failed projects. This highlights a clear message: that true resilience against climate change requires not just robust infrastructure, but also integrity and a commitment to public service. In a country that is a poster child for climate vulnerability, the ongoing tragedy is not just a natural disaster; it is a man-made crisis fueled by greed, proving that the money meant to protect the people has only ended up drowning them.

Manila Bay’s Vanishing Shore: Floods, Reclamation, and the Rising Tide of Climate Reality

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

Dredging vessels roar across Manila Bay in Pasay, clawing through the seabed and piling heaps of sand into the water. The spectacle looks like progress—massive reclamation projects promising new business districts and one of the world’s largest airports. But for communities living along the bay, the reality is darker: each scoop of sand is another step toward displacement, worsening floods, and the destruction of a fragile environment already battered by climate change.

In Bulakan and Hagonoy, seawater creeps into villages daily, submerging homes, schools, and farmlands. For residents, it has become a cruel routine: rising tides that flood their streets even under calm weather, leaving behind saltwater that poisons crops and erodes what little livelihood remains. Fishermen lament dwindling catches, while farmers salvage ruined harvests from fields now too saline to sustain life. What was once a fertile coast is being swallowed—bit by bit—by the sea and by man’s ambition.

A Crisis of Our Own Making

For decades, scientists have warned of rising seas fueled by melting ice sheets in Antarctica, intensifying storms, and the thermal expansion of warming oceans. Yet in the Philippines, another factor has hastened the disaster—unchecked human activity. Decades of rampant groundwater extraction have caused the land to sink. Large-scale reclamation has disrupted natural currents, pushing tides further inland. Quarrying and deforestation in Angono and Antipolo have stripped natural barriers that once absorbed floodwaters, leaving low-lying communities defenseless.

The result is catastrophic: floods arrive faster, rise higher, and linger longer. Even a gentle tide now brings ankle-deep waters. A strong monsoon can drown whole towns. And each year, storms grow deadlier—this week alone, torrential rains killed 12 people, displaced more than 2.7 million, and wiped out $7.7 million worth of crops.

Development at What Cost?

The new international airport in Bulakan, spearheaded by San Miguel Corporation under Ramon Ang, is projected to become the third largest in the world. For government planners and private investors, it represents progress and global prestige. But for the farmers and fisherfolk who once thrived along the coast, it has become a symbol of erasure. Their homes are being bulldozed, their lands reclaimed, their lives reduced to collateral damage in the name of development.

“Development” has too often meant sacrificing the poor while enriching the powerful. Flood control projects, supposedly designed to protect, have become fertile ground for corruption. Billions of pesos are funneled into dikes and drainage schemes, yet floods keep worsening. Whispers of senators, congressmen, and local officials profiting from “ghost projects” remain unanswered, as political will evaporates under the weight of vested interests.

Global Warming, Local Betrayals

This is not just a local crisis—it is part of a planetary emergency. No amount of flood control can stop glaciers from melting or seas from rising. But local choices—reclamation, quarrying, deforestation, coal dependency—amplify the devastation. These projects deepen our vulnerability, turning what should be gradual adaptation into an immediate humanitarian disaster.

And yet, denial persists. Many still argue that climate change is exaggerated, or not real at all. Others dismiss the connection between reclamation and worsening floods. But residents who wade through knee-deep waters every day, who bury their crops in saltwater, who abandon fishing boats now stranded on land—they do not need convincing. They are living proof that this crisis is here.

A Shared Responsibility

Yes, government policies and corporate projects bear much of the blame. But individuals, too, carry responsibility. Every appliance we leave plugged in, every car trip powered by fossil fuel, every tree cut and not replaced—these choices add up. The Philippines still depends on coal for most of its electricity, locking us into a cycle of carbon emissions. We call on the state to act, but we must also examine our own carbon footprints.

The question is not just whether reclamation should continue, or whether another flood control project should be approved. The deeper question is whether we as a nation are willing to face the truth: we are standing at the frontline of climate disaster, and the tide will not wait for our politics to catch up.

Anger as a Gift

There is anger in these drowning communities—anger at neglect, at greed, at betrayal. But anger, if harnessed, can be a gift. It can ignite accountability, push governments to act, and awaken citizens to their own power.

We cannot reclaim the past, but we can still reclaim the future. That begins by acknowledging the scale of the crisis, dismantling the systems of corruption and exploitation that worsen it, and making choices—at both macro and micro levels—that honor life instead of erasing it.

The sea is rising. The question is: will we rise with it, or will we sink beneath the weight of our own denial?

When Journalism Becomes PR: The Vico-Korina-Julius Clash and the Fragile Currency of Credibility

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

In Philippine media, few clashes reveal the deep fractures between journalism and public relations more starkly than the recent exchange between Pasig City Mayor Vico Sotto and broadcast veterans Korina Sanchez and Julius Babao. At first glance, the controversy seems to revolve around whether a certain contractor family paid ₱10 million for favorable coverage. But peel away the noise, and the heart of the issue is far more enduring—and far more dangerous: the credibility of journalism itself.

Mayor Vico did not accuse the veteran journalists of violating the law. He did something more unsettling: he called out what he described as “shameful.” His words cut through the fog of denial and counter-denial, putting the spotlight not on payment, but on perception. And in journalism, perception is often reality.

Lifestyle Journalism Is Still Journalism

Much of the pushback from Sanchez and Babao’s defenders rests on a familiar refrain: “This is lifestyle, not journalism.” The argument suggests that stories about personalities, politicians, or contractors—when framed as “life stories”—are not bound by the same standards as hard news. But this distinction, as newsroom veterans point out, collapses under scrutiny.

Lifestyle journalism, whether in print, broadcast, or online, is journalism. Full stop. Reporters and editors in lifestyle desks are bound by the same ethical codes—whether from the Kapisanan ng mga Brodkaster ng Pilipinas (KBP) or the Philippine Press Institute (PPI)—as their colleagues in news and current affairs. To suggest otherwise is to erase decades of work from writers who have chronicled culture, travel, fashion, arts, food, and yes, even personalities, with rigor and responsibility.

In fact, lifestyle sections have historically carried the weight of sustaining media organizations. Readers often bought newspapers and magazines for features, arts, entertainment, and travel pieces, while advertisers funneled millions into advertorials and “special features” in these sections. Yet this economic reality did not exempt lifestyle journalists from the duty of transparency. If an article is paid for, it must be disclosed. If airtime is sponsored, it must be labeled. Anything less risks blurring the fragile boundary between editorial independence and advertising influence.

The Peril of “Life Story” Coverage

This is why the public skepticism toward Sanchez and Babao is not unfounded. In an era where exposure itself is political capital, featuring politicians or contractors under the guise of lifestyle storytelling cannot be divorced from its implications. Media visibility, no matter the framing, has tangible value—especially for public figures with reputational baggage.

Calling a feature a “life story” does not negate its power to sanitize, humanize, or even glorify individuals who stand to benefit politically or financially from a softer public image. And when such coverage involves personalities with ties to government contracts or politics, the line between journalism and public relations becomes perilously thin.

This is what Mayor Vico was pointing out—not that money necessarily changed hands, but that credibility is compromised when journalists lend their names, platforms, and reputations to subjects whose interests go beyond storytelling. The public does not parse these nuances the way insiders do. To the audience, exposure is endorsement. And once they suspect that airtime can be bought, trust evaporates—regardless of whether there was actual payment.

Credibility: The Media’s Only Currency

The journalism profession has always stood on precarious ground, sustained not by wealth or power but by one intangible, irreplaceable asset: credibility. Strip that away, and media loses its reason for being.

The danger in the current controversy is not just the blowback against two well-known broadcasters. It is the creeping normalization of blurred lines, where “life stories” serve as backdoors for reputation management, and where audiences are told to separate soft journalism from hard journalism—as if ethics can be compartmentalized.

Veteran journalists know better. Codes of ethics were written not to divide beats but to uphold integrity across them. Whether covering a war zone, a city hall scandal, or a contractor’s family portrait, the duty remains the same: to inform the public truthfully, independently, and without undue influence.

The Lesson Moving Forward

The clash between Vico Sotto and the Sanchez-Babao camp is not merely gossip fodder. It is a mirror reflecting journalism’s deepest vulnerability in the age of influence. It forces us to ask uncomfortable questions: Who gets featured, and why? When is a story a story, and when is it PR? And most crucially, how much trust can the public still extend to media institutions whose stars blur those lines?

At the end of the day, journalism has only one shield—public trust. Once the audience begins to believe that stories can be bought, no denial, legal threat, or semantic distinction between “news” and “lifestyle” can restore it.

That is why Vico’s critique stings. It is not about ₱10 million. It is about credibility—the lifeblood of journalism, the very thing that makes people listen. Lose that, and the profession becomes indistinguishable from public relations.

And once journalism becomes PR, it stops being journalism at all.