There seems to be an uneasy letup in the gathering storm of the trillion peso flood control scandal. Critics deplore the seeming reluctance of President Marcos to discipline his allies, following the formation of the Independent Commission on Infrastructure (ICI) which is still gathering momentum in terms of discharging its enormous responsibility to bring the guilty parties to the bar of justice.

As a First Quarter Storm participant, my spirits were lifted at the swelling ranks of those who vigorously joined the Luneta and People Power Monument rallies last Sept. 21.

Half a century later, the same storm clouds are gathering once again. Billions of pesos were appropriated by Congress for dikes, drainage, and waterways that could have spared communities from ruinous floods. Instead, the funds lined pockets, bought favors, and deepened the people’s cynicism about government.

The anger is palpable. Young Filipinos, many of them heirs to the People Power generation, are rediscovering the urgency of protest. They have taken to the streets, campuses, and social media, echoing the same outrage that animated us in Dekada ’70. This civic energy is not spontaneous. It is fueled by betrayal: the realization that even after Edsa and decades of democratic transition, the old scourge of graft has returned with audacity.

Here and now, context must be defined; a sharp contrast must be drawn. In 2013, when the Janet Napoles pork barrel racket exploded, the nation witnessed what decisive, independent institutions could accomplish.

Then Commission on Audit (COA) Chair Grace Pulido-Tan laid bare the scheme with painstaking documentation. She showed in black and white how lawmakers’ pork barrel allocations had been funneled into fake NGOs, siphoned into ghost projects, and pocketed by unscrupulous operators. The clarity of COA’s report galvanized public opinion; the facts could not be denied, the paper trail impossible to ignore.

But the exposé would have remained a scandal without accountability had it not been for the determination of Ombudsman Conchita Carpio Morales. With quiet diligence and steel-like resolve, she pursued cases against senators and representatives long thought untouchable. Plunder charges were filed. Trials ensued. Some of the country’s most powerful figures were detained while undergoing trial. For once, the message was unmistakable: corruption has consequences.

It was not a perfect moment, but it proved that institutions, when led by principled figures, can rise above politics. It gave flesh to the Daang Matuwid promise of President Benigno S. Aquino III that government could indeed confront greed and abuse at the highest levels.

From flashback to fast forward, let’s zoom in on current events.

In the face of the enormity of the flood control scandal, the ICI seems to be still establishing its moorings, while the President is perceived by critics as unwilling to call out political allies being implicated in the flood control scandal.

This is where the contrast begins to emerge.

In the Napoles scandal that was unmasked during the Aquino III administration, COA Chair Pulido-Tan and Ombudsman Morales never asked for political cover. They simply did their duty. Today, it appears that the mechanisms of accountability are being smothered by expediency. Investigations move at a snail’s pace. Big names remain untouched.

Corruption is not an act of God; it is an act of men and women who choose personal enrichment over public service. And it thrives only when leaders tolerate it in the name of political survival.

The youth marching today may not remember People Power in 1986 — which National Artist for Literature Nick Joaquin depicted as the Quartet of the Tiger Moon — or the Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF) or pork barrel scam that starred Janet Lim Napoles.

But they recognize hypocrisy when they see it. They know that billions stolen from flood control projects mean more submerged homes, more ruined livelihoods, more children wading through contaminated waters to get to school. They know that corruption kills, slowly and cruelly, by denying citizens the infrastructure, services, and protection that government owes them.

That is why their fists are raised, not only in anger but also in moral judgment. In doing so, they put to shame the politicians, bureaucrats and contractors who now appear complicit in the plunder of public funds.

The lessons from Dekada ’70 are relevant and instructive. Storms gather because the people’s patience has limits. When institutions fail to check abuse, when leaders refuse to discipline their own ranks, the people themselves will act and seize the initiative. That is the recurring rhythm of our political history: from Martial Law to EDSA People Power, from Napoles to Discaya, et al.

We struggle amid a gathering storm. What is largely uncertain, albeit unpredictable, is how today’s political drama will ultimately unravel. May our Lady of EDSA bless and guide the destiny of our nation.

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