The Weight of Lies: How a Bogus Testimony of Orly Guteza Turned Into a Political Weapon

Wazzup Pilipinas!? 

In the circus of Philippine politics, even the weight of a suitcase can decide the fate of powerful men.

During a Blue Ribbon Committee hearing, witness Orly Guteza painted a picture so sensational it should have collapsed under the weight of its own absurdity. “Ang bigat ng maleta,” he declared. Heavy, indeed—but not heavy enough to hold up against basic math.

When fellow participant Discaya quipped that a million pesos weighs roughly one kilogram, the illusion shattered. Guteza’s claim of lugging around 48 kilograms of cash on his own was laughable. From the looks of him, he couldn’t have hauled that kind of load without collapsing under the strain.

Then came the computation that turned the story into a parody of itself. To move around 46 suitcases stuffed with cash—over ₱2 billion in total—you’d need more than just bravado. The load would weigh a staggering 2.4 tons, with each suitcase tipping the scales at 53 kilograms. That’s heavier than an SUV. Imagine it: three large vans just to carry the money, and at least two dozen men to haul, lift, and guard it.

Yet Guteza’s affidavit, the very foundation of his testimony, mentioned none of these logistical impossibilities. Worse, the affidavit itself was later disowned by Atty. Petchie Rose Espera, whose signature and notarial stamp appear on the document.

By any measure of truth, Guteza’s testimony should have collapsed in on itself. But in Philippine politics, truth is often irrelevant.

Because the point wasn’t to prove facts. The point was to tell a story.

Congressman Rodante Marcoleta, who paraded Guteza as his star witness, got exactly what he wanted. Whether or not the details held up, Guteza’s tale was enough to air the spectacle, enough for the Duterte Diehard Supporters (DDS) to grab onto and weaponize.

In their universe, narrative is king, facts are optional, and reality is always bent and twisted.

Former House Speaker Martin Romualdez, already burdened by accusations of overseeing what many describe as the most corrupt national budget in history, has now been painted as the villain in yet another morality play staged by his rivals. The DDS want him jailed, disgraced, and punished—not necessarily for what he has done, but for daring to preside over the impeachment complaint against Sara Duterte.

And so, despite the glaring holes in Guteza’s story—the impossible weights, the disowned affidavit, the unanswered question from his own coach: “Bakit putol-putol yung affidavit na binabasa mo?”—the narrative lives on.

Because in the DDS world, a bogus testimony isn’t a collapse of credibility. It’s fuel for fire.

A story, no matter how twisted, can burn brighter than the truth.

ICI Closed Door Investigations: 'Ghost Projects", Now “Ghost Hearings” too?

Wazzup Pilipinas!? 

When Brian Hosaka, Executive Director of the Independent Commission for Infrastructure (ICI), declared that the hearings on alleged corruption within the DPWH would not be made public — expressing fears that livestreaming might mislead the public — the decision instantly fueled public skepticism. “It’s a very dangerous thing if we livestream it and at the same time, people might be misled. [We] want the people to trust [that] we will be doing our job fairly, objectively, and independently,” Hosaka said.

But why keep it hidden? For a public long burdened by corruption scandals, secrecy only breeds suspicion. When decisions are made away from public eyes, trust doesn’t grow — it withers.

Light and the Lamp: Why Transparency Matters

“Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.” (Matthew 5:15)

Transparency is the lamp. If an investigation is conducted behind closed doors, silence ceases to be golden and instead becomes the breeding ground of doubt. As the saying goes: “Keep it quiet long enough, and silence becomes suspicious.”

The ICI exists to safeguard the integrity of national infrastructure projects. Yet, its members are appointed by the President. In such a setup, it is natural for citizens to question: where does independence truly begin and political influence end? Independence is not proven by mere declarations — it is demonstrated through openness.

Transparency Is Not the Enemy of Due Process — It’s the Foundation

The ICI argues that secrecy or limited access is necessary to protect the integrity of the investigation. Protecting evidence and the process is valid. But sealing the hearings entirely from the public eye produces the opposite effect: it erodes the very trust they claim to protect.

Livestreaming or publishing proceedings, handled responsibly with redactions when necessary, does not mislead the people. On the contrary, it empowers them to see that justice is being pursued without hidden agendas. Transparency is not the adversary of fairness — it is the proof of fairness.

Practical Steps Toward Genuine Trust

Livestream public hearings — technology allows moderation of live feeds, redaction of sensitive testimonies, and safeguards for witnesses. The default must be openness, with exceptions justified.

Release redacted transcripts — publish full proceedings, with clear explanations for any redactions.

Body cams for site inspections — bring cameras during field investigations to show real conditions on the ground. Let the public see what inspectors see.

Civil society oversight — invite trusted NGOs and media partners to monitor, ensuring multiple independent records of the process.

Publish clear timelines and milestones — show the people when to expect initial findings, recommendations, and follow-ups.

Why Public Trust Is at Stake

Decades of corruption — overpriced projects, unfinished infrastructure, and outright “ghost projects” — have hardened public cynicism. When an institution like ICI chooses secrecy without strong justification, citizens are quick to assume the worst.

Trust cannot be demanded; it must be earned. The moment ICI members were appointed by the President, they were handed the chance to prove independence. They must show it by welcoming scrutiny, not avoiding it. If they truly have nothing to hide, public oversight should not be feared but embraced.

In the End: Light vs. Shadows

“What is hidden in darkness expose it in the light, God cannot be mocked what a man soweth he reapeth.”

Justice cannot thrive in shadows. Citizens are not asking for instant judgment — only the right to witness the process. Not for sensationalism, but for accountability.

In the Philippines, where faith in institutions is battered, transparency is no longer optional. It is the only way for the ICI’s findings — whether criminal, civil, or administrative — to be seen as legitimate.

As founder of Wazzup Pilipinas, I call on the ICI: open your windows. Livestream the hearings. Show the process. Prove independence not with words, but through actions visible to the people. Let the people be aware of the process and how you worked. 

For in a nation scarred by corruption, light is not a luxury. It is a necessity. And if the ICI is truly on the side of truth, then it must allow that light to shine.

Super Typhoon Ragasa: The Philippines on the Frontline of Climate Change

Wazzup Pilipinas!? 

The Philippines has long carried the weight of the world’s most powerful storms, but Super Typhoon Ragasa has pushed the nation into yet another chapter of climate-induced devastation. What unfolded in late September 2025 was not just a natural disaster—it was a chilling testament to how human-caused climate change is rewriting the country’s weather reality.

A Storm Like No Other

Between September 20 and 21, Ragasa underwent extreme rapid intensification, strengthening by 137 kilometers per hour (85 mph) in barely 24 hours. By the time it reached its peak, the monster storm was packing sustained winds of 266 kph (165 mph)—making it the most powerful storm in the world this year.

According to climate scientists, the conditions that allowed Ragasa to explode in power were not ordinary. Sea surface temperatures in the Philippine Sea were 0.7 to 1.1°C above normal, providing a supercharged fuel source. Climate Central’s Climate Shift Index (CSI) analysis found that these unusually warm waters were 10 to 40 times more likely because of human-caused climate change.

Dr. Daniel Gilford, meteorologist and climate scientist, explained:

“Super Typhoon Ragasa intensified over waters made hotter by human-caused climate change. These exceptionally warm sea surface temperatures increased the chances that Ragasa would rapidly intensify — and it did, becoming the most powerful typhoon this year.”

When Ragasa Struck Home

On September 22, Ragasa roared into the Philippines, slamming Panuitan Island in the north. Its winds ripped roofs off houses, roads were cut off by landslides, and coastal villages were left underwater. At least three Filipinos were killed, and thousands more were forced to flee their homes.

For families already living on the edge, the typhoon was devastating. Farmers watched their crops vanish in a matter of hours, while fisherfolk saw their boats destroyed—their only means of livelihood gone. Mountain communities were left isolated as landslides blocked vital access roads.

It is a cruel reality for a nation ranked among the most disaster-prone in the world: every storm season brings not just rain and wind, but the haunting fear of another tragedy.

A Nation Bearing the Brunt

The Philippines has always been a frontline state in the battle against climate change. But Ragasa is a painful reminder that the fight is no longer about prevention—it is about survival.

Infrastructure remains fragile, with many homes built from light materials that cannot withstand super typhoon winds.

Communities lack resources for full recovery before the next storm hits.

Lives are repeatedly upended, with displacement, hunger, and poverty deepening after every disaster.

And yet, the science makes it clear: storms like Ragasa are not just acts of God. They are intensified by human choices—by decades of unchecked carbon emissions, deforestation, and reliance on fossil fuels.

Global Problem, Local Consequences

The Philippines may contribute less than 1% of global greenhouse gas emissions, yet it is among the countries that suffer most. Ragasa’s fury is part of a wider pattern:

In August, Japan and South Korea baked in record-breaking heat, made five times more likely by climate change.

In the United States, wildfires and heatwaves pushed temperatures up to 30°F above normal, affecting millions.

Across the Atlantic, Hurricane Erin reached Category 5 strength, fueled by abnormally warm ocean waters.

These global events prove one thing: the crisis is shared, but the burden is not equal. Nations like the Philippines are paying the heaviest price for a warming world they did little to create.

Turning Grief into Action

The story of Ragasa should not end with its destruction. It should be a rallying cry for stronger climate action—both at home and abroad.

At the local level, the Philippines must strengthen disaster preparedness, enforce resilient building codes, and invest in renewable energy.

At the global stage, wealthier nations must be held accountable for financing climate adaptation and paying into the loss-and-damage fund agreed upon in international climate talks.

For Filipinos, the question is no longer whether the storms will come—it is how strong they will be, and how ready the country will be when they do.

Super Typhoon Ragasa was more than a weather event; it was a warning. And if the world does not act decisively, the Philippines will continue to live under the shadow of storms it did not summon but must endure.