“The Storm of Justice: When Corruption and a Rotten "Modern" System Provokes Rebellion”

“The Storm of Justice: When Corruption 

and a Rotten "Modern" System Provokes Rebellion”

By Kat Ulrike

In the 21st century, in an age that prides itself on “smart” governance and digital sophistication, some still deny the existence of class struggle. Fencesitters—those who insist on caution and moderation—often claim, “Then you are uneducated. Then what? Are you happy to do it? Think first before you do it.” This was the refrain after observers attempted to justify the people’s anger that erupted into the riots in Indonesia. 

The reality, however, is stark: the riots were not random acts of destruction but the result of righteous anger, driven by a government that consistently favors the corrupt status quo at the expense of the impoverished majority. The people have endured years of systemic betrayal, where promises of justice and due process exist only in rhetoric while the elite consolidate wealth and power. Fencesitters, pretending to be critics or moral arbiters, cry for “sobriety” and adherence to procedure—but their concern is often performative. The very people witnessing the injustice understand that the script is broken; repeated adherence to process has delivered neither safety nor accountability. 

It is worth noting that these protesters, while bypassing due process, are ethically navigating a gray area born of desperation. Looting and rioting are not merely acts of anger—they are symbolic acts of reclaiming what has been stolen through corruption and negligence. Yes, chaos is messy. Yes, morality is complex. But the deeper truth remains: public trust in institutions has been systematically depleted. Ordinary citizens have witnessed enough scripted apologies, rehearsed statements, and superficial displays of unity. They are not rebelling for spectacle or personal gain—they are demanding justice, transparency, and meaningful structural change. 

How come this moral urgency is so often dismissed? Many who critique these acts—fencesitters, self-proclaimed moderates, and so-called reformists—cling to the belief that “there’s hope in reforming the system,” as if moral compromise and endless patience can magically restore justice in a structure designed to protect the powerful. They often focus on individual culpability, blaming those deemed corrupt, while ignoring the broader systemic failures that perpetuate inequity and abuse. 

But let the reader consider a deeper question: even in the absence of clearly corrupt individuals, if the system itself continues to institutionalize injustice and protect privilege, does the cycle of oppression truly end? Or is the very structure of governance, law, and economic distribution sufficient to perpetuate inequity, regardless of who sits in office? Those who rise in protest are often motivated by the conviction that another society is possible—a society where accountability, fairness, and dignity are not luxuries but guarantees. 

Does the hope of reform invalidate this moral appeal? Absolutely not. To dismiss the protesters’ actions as rash or illegitimate is to ignore the historical and structural reality that when institutions fail consistently, ethical rebellion becomes a rational and necessary response. The moral weight of protest lies not only in the acts themselves but in their underlying purpose: the persistent and principled demand that governance serve the people, not the privileged few. To ignore this is to prioritize decorum over justice, appearances over reality, and the comfort of the elite over the survival and dignity of the majority. 

Demanding accountability in the face of looming protest 

Consider the Philippine context. Politicians and bureaucrats—some implicated in massive corruption scandals—already occupy the halls of power in Malacañang, Congress, and Local Government Units. Billions of pesos, money intended to protect citizens from calamities and safeguard livelihoods, have been siphoned away. The consequences are not abstract; they affect flood protection, disaster response, public health, and the very safety of millions of Filipinos. The outrage is not about burning buildings or overturning cars. It is about a government that consistently fails to protect its people, betraying not just wealth but life itself. 

One of the most egregious examples involves the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH), which has been at the center of a massive scandal concerning over ₱350 billion allocated for flood control and related infrastructure projects. Investigations by the Commission on Audit (COA) and other oversight bodies revealed that out of 9,855 projects funded under various programs, including the National Irrigation Administration’s rehabilitation efforts, a staggering 6,021 had no clear documentation or evidence of what was actually built, repaired, or rehabilitated. Reports highlighted ghost projects, inflated costs, and substandard or non-existent constructions in flood-prone areas, leaving millions of Filipinos vulnerable to annual typhoons and disasters. This scandal, which came to light in audits covering 2022-2024, has prompted calls for criminal probes and the resignation of key officials, as taxpayers question where their hard-earned money has vanished and why essential safety measures remain unfulfilled despite billions poured into the system. 

Compounding this issue is the ongoing controversy surrounding Vice President Sara Duterte, who faced an impeachment complaint in late 2024 over alleged misuse of confidential and intelligence funds (CIF) totaling over ₱600 million during her tenure as education secretary. Accusations included diverting funds for personal or political purposes, such as lavish expenditures unrelated to national security, alongside threats made against President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. and other officials amid escalating political tensions between the Duterte and Marcos camps. Although the Supreme Court ruled the impeachment process unconstitutional in early 2025, citing procedural flaws and overreach by the House of Representatives, the decision has done little to dispel public skepticism. Critics argue it exemplifies how the elite shield themselves from accountability, further deepening divisions and perceptions of a politicized justice system. 

These cases are far from isolated; they form part of a broader pattern of corruption that has ensnared multiple agencies and figures in recent years. For instance, the Philippine National Police (PNP) has been embroiled in the so-called “P6.7 billion extortion scandal” uncovered in 2023-2024, where high-ranking officers were accused of running a syndicate that extorted money from illegal Philippine Offshore Gaming Operators (POGOs) and other criminal enterprises. This racket allegedly involved kidnapping, human trafficking, and laundering proceeds, leading to the dismissal of several generals and exposing ties to organized crime within law enforcement. Similarly, the Department of Health (DOH) faced renewed scrutiny in 2024 over the lingering Pharmally scandal from the Duterte era, with fresh audits revealing overpriced medical supplies and procurement irregularities worth billions during the COVID-19 pandemic—issues that continue to haunt the agency amid ongoing Senate hearings. 

Another notable case is the 2023 scandal involving the Bureau of Customs (BOC), where officials were implicated in smuggling operations that allowed billions of pesos worth of illegal goods, including rice and agricultural products, to enter the country unchecked. This not only deprived the government of revenue but also exacerbated food inflation and insecurity for ordinary Filipinos. In the education sector, beyond Duterte’s impeachment woes, there were revelations in 2024 about the misuse of the Department of Education's (DepEd) budget for confidential funds, with ₱90 million reportedly unaccounted for in a single year, sparking investigations into ghost employees and unauthorized disbursements. These scandals collectively highlight a systemic crisis: entrenched corruption, weak oversight mechanisms, and a culture of impunity at the highest levels of government. 

From infrastructure boondoggles that fail to protect communities from natural calamities to the blatant abuse of public funds by elected leaders, the pattern is clear—resources meant for the people’s upliftment are siphoned off, leaving essential services underfunded and vulnerable populations at risk. The Filipino people are not just angry; they are mobilizing through protests, social media campaigns, and calls for international intervention to demand accountability and justice. The question is not whether the system is broken—it unequivocally is—but how much longer the people will tolerate its failure before pushing for radical change, such as stronger anti-corruption laws, independent audits, and electoral reforms to restore faith in governance. As these issues persist into 2025, the pressure mounts for leaders to act decisively or face the consequences of a disillusioned populace. 

The Limits of Sobriety: When Demands Followed by Outrage 

In other countries, the demand for accountability can erupt with even greater intensity, yet critics still cry for “sobriety” and strict adherence to due process, often ignoring the depth and legitimacy of public anger. Recently, in Indonesia, this tension reached a breaking point. Citizens took to the streets in mass protests after news broke that government housing allowances for members of parliament were nearly ten times the minimum wage in Jakarta, a figure that highlighted the stark disparity between lawmakers and ordinary citizens struggling to survive under austerity. 

The public’s fury was compounded by simultaneous government measures under President Prabowo that imposed strict austerity, including cuts to education, healthcare, and public infrastructure projects. These policies disproportionately affected the poor and working class, exacerbating social inequality while elites enjoyed continued privileges. 

The demonstrators were also protesting against what they termed “corrupt elites” within the government and policies that favored conglomerates and the military, according to a press release from the student group Gejayan Memanggil. Their statement reflected growing concern about the expanding role of the military in civilian life under Prabowo’s administration—a trend that many fear undermines democracy and concentrates power in unaccountable institutions. The protests, which began peacefully, quickly spread across the country and escalated into violent confrontations on Friday after the death of 21-year-old delivery driver Affan Kurniawan in Jakarta. Footage circulated showing an armored vehicle belonging to the elite paramilitary police unit running over Affan as it plowed through a crowd of demonstrators late on Thursday. His death became a rallying point for protesters, crystallizing years of accumulated frustration at economic inequality, political favoritism, and state violence. 

It is No “Dinner Party”: Regardless of Attempts to Make it That Way 

These events illustrate the undeniable force of public outrage when institutional accountability fails. They underscore that calls for moderation or patience—however well-meaning in principle—can appear hollow in the face of structural injustice. When people are systematically denied fairness, protection, and representation, anger does not dissipate; it intensifies, often spilling into action that those in power find difficult to contain. The Indonesian protests serve as a stark reminder of the limits of patience and the power of collective moral outrage. 

It is not surprising that people initially hoped for a “peaceful one,” even as the situation became catastrophic, exemplified by the killing of a 21-year-old delivery driver by authorities. Who, in the face of a populace suddenly armed with pitchforks, wanted it to remain a “dinner party”? Obviously, these fencesitters did—they clung to the belief that something could be salvaged within a rotten system, claiming there was still “useful” to extract. But the people knew better. There is nothing of value in a decayed order, a lesson painfully underscored by the staged and ultimately hollow celebrations of EDSA. 

Fencesitters may further insist that those who protest—or especially those who resort to looting—are “paid” or manipulated, as if citizens asserting their rights are puppets of agitators. This argument ignores the root cause: the system itself provoked the people. Corruption, neglect, and impunity are the provocations. The moral calculus is clear—when the elite steal lives, safety, and opportunity, the people’s retribution, though messy, is an understandable and, in many ways, necessary response. Moral high ground alone does not feed the hungry; ethical posturing does not restore lives lost to mismanagement or calamity. 

As Thomas Aquinas wrote on the morality of war: “A war is just if it is declared and waged by the proper authority, for a just cause, and with the right intention.” While Aquinas addressed warfare, the principle is instructive here: action taken against a corrupt and unjust authority, with the aim of protecting the innocent and restoring justice, aligns with the moral framework of a “just cause.” The protests and uprisings, then, are not mere chaos—they are an ethically grounded assertion of justice against systemic wrongdoing. 

Let people admit the inconvenient truth: class struggle persists, regardless of the rhetoric of “democracy,” “good governance,” or “capitalist fairness.” Semi-feudalism, cronyism, and the consolidation of political and economic power cannot erase the inequities that drive the oppressed to action. Those who riot or rebel are not merely violent—they are asserting their humanity against a system designed to deny it. And if the people’s anger reaches its peak, if the elite continue to provoke and exploit, the eruption of unrest becomes not only inevitable but morally justified. 

At its core, this is a simple but profound principle: when governance fails its people, rebellion is not only a right—it is a necessity.

When (the system-sponsored) "Democracy" Fails its Script: The People’s Right to Rise

When (the system-sponsored) "Democracy" Fails its Script: 

The People’s Right to Rise

In the wake of Indonesia’s recent protests, some voices in the Philippines have rushed to caution against emulating such upheaval. “People shouldn’t do what the Indonesians did,” they say. “If this violence and chaos happens in the Philippines, it will only hurt the economy, tourism, and investor confidence. Communist China could also take advantage of the violence and chaos to undermine our state institutions. We should seek to solve our corruption problems in a judicious and peaceful manner, like a true working democracy, instead of mob rule and anarchy like in Indonesia.” 

It is a familiar refrain: calm, orderly, and moralizing, as if the suffering and indignation of ordinary citizens could be silenced by appeals to market stability or international perception. Yet such admonitions risk misunderstanding the depth of public frustration. What if the Filipino people have reached a breaking point? What if the storm of anger is not just inevitable, but morally and politically justified? In a society where scandals, mismanagement, and elite impunity have persisted for decades, the patience of the populace cannot be measured solely by appeals to civility. To insist that the people simply “wait” or “trust the system” is to ignore the lived reality of injustice—the erosion of public trust, the betrayal of social contracts, and the repeated failures of due process to deliver actual justice. 

The warning against chaos may sound prudent on paper, but on the ground, it risks dismissing a legitimate moral and civic outrage as mere disorder. For many Filipinos, the question is no longer whether reform is possible through conventional channels—it is whether justice can be achieved at all, and if the system has failed, what other avenues remain to demand accountability. In this light, the anger, even if explosive, becomes not a threat to democracy but a reaffirmation of the people’s right to insist that governance serve the public, not the privileged few. 

The Erosion of Trust 

In recent months, the Philippines has witnessed a series of events that have deeply shaken public trust in its institutions, revealing systemic issues of corruption, mismanagement, and a lack of accountability. 

The Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) has been embroiled in a scandal involving over ₱350 billion allocated for flood control projects. Investigations revealed that 6,021 out of 9,855 projects had no clear record of what was actually built, repaired, or rehabilitated . This revelation has left citizens questioning where their hard-earned taxes have gone and why their safety remains compromised. Furthermore, reports indicate that only 15 contractors secured nearly 20% of the total ₱545.65 billion allocation for the government’s flood control program . This concentration of contracts raises concerns about monopolistic practices and the lack of competition, which can lead to substandard work and inflated costs. 

Simultaneously, Vice President Sara Duterte faced an impeachment complaint over alleged misuse of public funds and threats against President Marcos and other officials. Progressive groups accused Duterte of betraying public trust by misusing over ₱612 million in confidential funds, citing violations of laws, false reports, and obstruction of investigations . Despite these serious allegations, the Supreme Court declared the impeachment unconstitutional, citing a constitutional rule prohibiting multiple impeachment filings against the same official within a year . This decision has done little to quell public skepticism about the political elite’s accountability. 

These events have underscored a growing perception among the public that those in power are not held to the same standards as ordinary citizens. The lack of transparency, coupled with the dismissal of serious allegations, has eroded trust in the very institutions meant to serve and protect the people. As the gap between the governed and the governing widens, the calls for accountability and justice grow louder, signaling a potential turning point in the nation’s political landscape. 

The Case for Righteous Anger 

Critics who dismiss the idea of public unrest fail to recognize the depth and persistence of frustration that many Filipinos feel. When the system is perceived as corrupt, unresponsive, and self-serving; when elites and politicians appear untouchable; and when justice is endlessly delayed or denied, what recourse remains for the people? The Bible speaks of righteous anger, and history confirms it: when justice is postponed, rebellion becomes not only understandable but morally imperative. 

The familiar refrain of “peaceful reform” or the invocation of a “true working democracy” is hollow in a nation where accountability, transparency, and fairness have been systematically undermined. Those who suggest that Filipinos should emulate a sanitized, orderly democracy conveniently ignore the very foundations of governance that have been eroded: institutions are captured, due process is selective, and privileges accrue to the few while the many are left to endure injustice. 

For decades, the memory of EDSA—its “magic” as some call it—has been invoked as a template for civic action. Yet the shallow rhetoric of national unity, applause for symbolic heroism, and staged celebrations cannot stop the inherent anger of the people against a system that continues to fail them. EDSA’s message of unity may pacify some, but it cannot extinguish the radical yearning for change, nor can it restrain the collective desire for justice. No law, no heavenly decree, no curated ceremonial remembrance can contain the people’s innate drive for liberation when oppression becomes unbearable. 

As an observer, one cannot help but see that this righteous anger has been long overdue. It stems not only from the failings of local elites but also from decades of exploitation by both imperialist powers—east and west—and by domestic tyrants and opportunists who have profited from the nation’s hardship. The anger is cumulative: a response to years of unpunished wrongdoing, economic betrayal, and political manipulation. 

This is not a call for indiscriminate violence. Unlike the recent Indonesian protests, where looting and firebombing occurred, the Filipino people do not necessarily seek destruction as an end in itself. Yet, if tyrants and despots continue to strike against citizens whose hopes are rooted in national liberation and social justice, such measures could become an unavoidable expression of accumulated grievance. The flames of righteous anger, long smoldering beneath the surface, may erupt if the system refuses to answer its people’s demands for accountability and equity. 

In essence, the moral and historical record affirms this: when a society’s governing structures are persistently corrupt, when laws serve only the powerful, and when avenues for redress are systematically blocked, the people’s anger is not merely emotion—it is justice insisting on its own terms. In the Philippine context, where corruption scandals, political favoritism, and systemic neglect have persisted for decades, this anger is neither random nor irrational. It is a necessary, overdue force demanding that the nation reckon with its failures and strive for genuine liberation and social equity. 

Patience Has Its Limits:

When Rebellion Becomes Justifiable,

and the Anger makes the Riot Necessariable 

The recent events in Indonesia serve as a stark reminder that the patience of ordinary citizens has boundaries. A population can endure injustice, corruption, and ineffectual governance for only so long before its suppressed frustrations manifest as collective action. While the Philippines has not yet witnessed widespread protests of similar scale, the structural conditions that provoke such unrest are all too familiar: political favoritism, unchecked scandals, economic mismanagement, and a pervasive sense that the system protects the elite at the expense of the people. The question, therefore, is no longer if the Filipino people will rise—it is when and how they will do so. 

History demonstrates that prolonged injustice inevitably produces social pressure. The repeated scandals—from the mismanaged ₱350 billion DPWH flood control program to selective enforcement of accountability in high-level political disputes—have compounded public frustration. Citizens observe the slow or nonexistent consequences for powerful individuals while ordinary citizens struggle with rising costs, natural disasters, and systemic neglect. Such conditions make the notion of peaceful patience increasingly untenable. 

It is not only moral but rational to recognize that, under these circumstances, rebellion becomes justifiable. When legal channels fail, when oversight mechanisms are weakened, and when promises of reform remain unfulfilled, the people are left with limited avenues to assert their rights and demand justice. This is not an advocacy of indiscriminate violence; rather, it is an acknowledgment of the inherent legitimacy of anger in response to persistent oppression. The very act of demanding accountability can, at times, require confrontation. 

For the Filipino people, the imperative is clear: they must demand more than symbolic gestures, hollow promises, or staged public displays of unity. They must insist on genuine accountability, transparent governance, and policies that serve the interests of all citizens rather than a privileged few. If the political elite continues to ignore, dismiss, or deflect these calls, they risk provoking the very storm of discontent they claim to fear. 

Patience is not infinite, and injustice is not eternal. The anger of the people is not merely reactionary—it is a moral barometer signaling that governance has failed. To disregard it is to invite upheaval; to recognize it is to confront the urgent need for meaningful reform. The storm, long building beneath the surface, may yet arrive, and when it does, it will not be a question of choice but of necessity.