Every rainy season, the Philippines braces for more than storm surges. It braces for a system stacked against its citizens: a corrupt deck of contracts and power plays. When floods submerge homes and streets, the outcome is never in doubt: the game is rigged and the house always wins. There is no question in that.
Between 2022 and 2025, the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) allocated ₱545 billion for flood-control projects nationwide. Yet ₱100 billion (about 20% of the total) was awarded to just 15 contractors according to a report by the Presidential Communications Office in August 2025. Several of these firms hold contracts across multiple regions, dominating bids as if the deck had already been shuffled in their favour. And the players are no longer faceless. The Department of Justice (DOJ) has issued an immigration lookout bulletin order against over 40 contractors and government officials, ensuring they cannot leave the country as investigations proceed. Among those named are Cezarah “Sarah” and Pacifico “Curlee” Discaya of Alpha & Omega and St. Timothy Construction. Sarah Discaya even admitted before the Senate that her firms sometimes bid against one another, a practice that revealed how the game was wired from the start. Another figure, Desiderio Go, was identified as the “authorised managing officer” for Discaya-linked companies in DPWH dealings. The Senate Blue Ribbon Committee hearings have compelled them and other figures to publicly answer for the fraud. These are not phantom names hidden in spreadsheets; they are real people who shaped how billions in public funds were played.
And yet, despite the billions, the floods kept rising. According to DPWH’s own 2023 assessment, nearly half of Metro Manila’s flood-control structures were “inadequate or non-functional”. Each year, new contracts are announced with fanfare. Each year, the water climbs higher. Each year, the promises sink lower. This isn’t a matter of chance, or even simple inefficiency. It is a deliberate structure where a handful of players corner the pot while millions of Filipinos are left stranded in waist-deep water. What citizens got were not safeguards but ghost projects; phantom flood controls that exist more on paper than on the ground.
The costs of this betrayal are staggering. Finance Secretary Ralph Recto estimated that corruption in these projects cost the Philippine economy between ₱42.3 billion to ₱118.5 billion from 2023 to 2025; funds that could have built new schools, provided healthcare and created hundreds of thousands of jobs. The National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Council (NDRRMC) consistently reports significant damage from recent storms, displacing millions and destroying thousands of homes, schools and facilities, underscoring the very real human cost of this widespread corruption.
The public has recognised the pattern. Online netizens call out dynasties and “nepo-baby” heirs flaunting their wealth while evacuation centres overflow. Memes of contractors as card sharks and politicians as dealers capture what audits confirm: this is not governance, this is a racket. No wonder outrage now spills across social media. Smartphones have become watchdogs, documenting excess and betrayal.
In early September, viral videos showed protesters hurling mud and spray-painting the gates of St. Gerrard Construction in Pasig City. And clips of the Discayas’ billion-peso fleet of luxury cars ricocheted across TikTok and Facebook. Customs authorities later confirmed seizing or sealing 12 luxury cars linked to the family, though the Discayas themselves admitted to owning 28 for personal use. The image of gleaming Rolls-Royces and Ferraris behind guarded gates struck a nerve. It was the perfect image of how public trust and public funds were both driven straight into private garages.
The fallout has already toppled leaders. DPWH Secretary Manuel Bonoan resigned, replaced by Vince Dizon, who immediately suspended flood-control bidding and ordered courtesy resignations within the agency. Non-bailable charges are being readied against several contractors and officials, while blacklisting of implicated firms is underway. These are not cosmetic moves; they signal that the game’s rules are at least being questioned.
A full house of cards will eventually fold, but until accountability reaches those who profit from this cycle, the people will keep paying the price. The floodwaters rise, the streets vanish and citizens are left holding nothing but ghost projects as well as ghost promises, while contractors walk away with the pot.
This is the reality. The winners are always the same and the rest of the nation is left with nothing but a flush of flooded streets. Now, the question is: how will you deal with the cards you’ve been dealt? Will you gamble away your future with another deck full of jokers? Or will you demand a full, independent audit and a complete overhaul of the bidding process to ensure the house no longer wins?
