I watched from Toronto as Manila was filled with white ribbons and chants on Sept. 21, the anniversary of martial law.
On that day in 1972, Ferdinand Marcos Sr. declared nationwide military rule, sparking two decades of authoritarianism marked by arrests, torture, and billions plundered from the public treasury.
Even across the other side of the world, seeing the images of people protesting and speaking up struck me.
Some scenes showed many citizens and students raising banners. Others showed chaos. Videos circulating online show protesters being arrested and, in some cases, killed.
Filipinos were filling the streets, demanding justice after billions meant for flood-control projects were stolen or wasted.
For me, this was a painful reminder that corruption has become part of our history, repeating itself like an endless script.
The outrage was triggered by revelations that more than ₱545 billion (about C$13 billion) had been poured into flood-control projects that were substandard, unfinished, or never built at all.
These projects were supposed to protect the country’s poorest and most flood-prone communities from disasters that strike year after year.
Instead, contractors and lawmakers were accused of taking huge cuts, about a quarter of every project’s budget, showing off their wealth with fleets of expensive imported cars and luxurious lifestyles.
A wealthy couple, Pacifico and Sarah Discaya, who run several construction firms, testified that they were pressured to hand over kickbacks just to win contracts.
They named 17 members of the House of Representatives and several officials from the Department of Public Works and Highways.
A former government engineer has also implicated two senators.
The scandal has already led prosecutors to freeze more than a hundred bank accounts linked to the projects, exposing how deeply the scheme infiltrated the country’s political class.
What should have been protection against rising waters turned into yet another scheme that drowned Filipinos in betrayal.
I’ve seen this happen many times before. People get angry, investigations make headlines, officials promise change, and a few are punished to calm the public.
But once the attention fades, nothing really changes, and the scandal is quietly forgotten.
This cycle of anger without real accountability has been part of Philippine politics for decades.
After the fall of Ferdinand Marcos Sr. in 1986, a government agency, the Presidential Commission on Good Government, was created to recover the billions of dollars stolen during his dictatorship.
Almost 40 years later, only a fraction of that money has been returned.
In 2013, the “Pork Barrel Scam” revealed that lawmakers were diverting development funds intended for communities into fake projects. A senator and several officials were jailed, while the larger system of corruption remained intact.
Before that, in 2004, the Fertilizer Fund Scam exposed how nearly a billion pesos meant to support poor farmers was funnelled instead into the political campaigns of those in power. Despite investigations and outrage, accountability was limited, and the practice of politicians using public money to serve their own interests never really disappeared.
Each of these scandals followed the same pattern.
Corruption is exposed, promises of justice are made, and yet the system resets itself without real change.
That is why this latest flood-control scandal feels so familiar and unbearable, painfully reminding us that history keeps repeating itself.
I thought flooding was simply part of life while growing up in the Philippines. Streets turning into rivers, classes getting cancelled, and seeing people struggle to evacuate were some of the experiences I had.
I got used to it, believing it was normal for a country hit by multiple typhoons every year.
It was only later that I realized these floods weren’t just any natural disasters. These were also consequences of broken and corrupt systems.
Showing their heavy frustration towards our government, I remember my parents saying with a disappointed tone, “This is where our taxes go.”
Hearing that broke me, because my parents are among the hardest-working people I know.
To see their blood, sweat, and tears drained away by greed from people who are supposed to make Filipinos' lives better left me both sad and restless.
It is heartbreaking to know that what I once accepted as inevitable was actually the result of theft from the very people meant to be protected and cherished.
The protests in Manila are part of a larger wave of anger sweeping across Asia.
In Indonesia, Nepal, and Timor-Leste, people have also risen against political elites flaunting wealth while citizens struggle. What connects these movements is the growing realization that ordinary people no longer have to accept corruption and abuse as “normal.”
Young people, in particular, are using social media to challenge the greed and expose the wrongdoings of the government.
Still, without real accountability, there is the risk that this too will fade into the same cycle.
For Filipinos like me studying abroad, it is easy to feel distant from these protests.
Distance, however, is not an excuse for silence.
When something is this severe and blatant, I cannot just sit back and watch. We share the same responsibility as those who were present at the protests in Manila to demand that this cycle of betrayal finally ends.
Accountability cannot be a performance in Congress or another commission that fades into irrelevance.
It must mean that there are real consequences for those who steal, and real protection for those who suffer.
If corruption has long been the script of our history, then it is time for people, at home and around the world, to speak up and rewrite it.
