The Flood Control Fiasco: Ghost Projects, Ghost Accountability?
Flood control, once a solemn promise of government to its people, has become the latest symbol of public works gone astray. In Bulacan, President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.’s inspection of the P96.4-million Rehabilitation of the River Protection Structure in Calumpit exposed what many residents had long feared: substandard construction, shallow dredging, and half-hearted work presented as complete.
The President, visibly angered, demanded answers from St. Timothy Construction Corporation, the contractor behind the project. Marcos noted that Bulacan has the highest number of flood control projects in the country—668 in all—yet families still wade through rising waters. He directed scuba divers to inspect the supposed protections, even as local residents wrote to Malacañang alleging weak materials had been used. “What excuse do they have for not doing this?” he asked. His words captured the frustration of a public long accustomed to promises without delivery.
Governor Daniel Fernando echoed this dismay. He admitted that some projects had been implemented without the provincial government’s review or even knowledge. Shocked by what the President himself saw, the governor announced an executive order requiring all flood control works in Bulacan to undergo provincial scrutiny. Fernando emphasized that several structures had already been declared “completed” despite their obvious flaws, vowing legal action against those responsible.
Beyond Bulacan, the problem appears systemic. Baguio City Mayor Benjamin Magalong described bidding for flood control projects as “luto”—rigged. He alleged that district engineers, chosen by politicians, act as de facto contractors, handling everything from planning and design to awarding and implementation. According to Magalong, their true role is not merely technical oversight but also the delivery of political payoffs.
Such allegations sharpen public suspicion. It was earlier revealed that 20 percent of the P545-billion flood control budget was awarded to only 15 contractors, among them St. Timothy. Past controversies involving incomplete roads, overpriced laptops, and questionable incorporators tied to these firms only deepen doubts about whether the people’s money has been hijacked by vested interests.
Senator JV Ejercito has warned of a “special place in hell” for those who profit from ghost projects while ordinary Filipinos suffer from floods. For his part, Public Works Secretary Manny Bonoan acknowledged ongoing irregularities and said district engineers were already being rotated, citing a three-year reassignment policy meant to prevent entrenched collusion. Yet rotation alone may not be enough to cure what many see as systemic rot.
The implications go beyond contracts. Floods do not yield to ceremonies or paper compliance. They demand defenses that work—dikes that hold, cement that lasts, waterways cleared of obstruction. When projects collapse, it is not contractors or engineers who pay the price, but the families left submerged in murky waters.
The unfolding controversy is more than an indictment of one company or one province. It raises a broader question: whether public works in the Philippines still serve the public, or whether they have been reduced to private schemes dressed up as infrastructure.
The people deserve protection, not deception. Unless accountability is enforced and reforms pursued, the billions spent on “flood control” may continue to vanish like so much rainwater—swallowed by corruption, leaving only the floods behind.