Watch a Church, a university, a newsroom, and an old opposition that agree on nothing suddenly agree on one thing. The moment one name comes up, they move as one, and few are still surprised.
What unites them is a removal. There is one person they cannot bribe or push out — the one who could still force them to account for the missing money, and end the careers their silence has paid for. So that person, above any thief, has to go. Everything else is noise they can live with.
Ask about the money and the room goes quiet. Hundreds of billions for flood control, gone — projects marked finished while the baha climbs past the windows, families bailing water while a few grow rich. Their anger never found the theft. It found only the enemy.
Some of this is easy to explain. A balimbing is a political animal, switching sides for whatever pays better, like any party. The newsrooms slant for whoever signs the check. Money is their motive; we stopped expecting better. But two of these were never meant to answer to money. They were built to teach right from wrong; their silence should keep us awake.
Start with the Church. This is the institution that taught the nation right from wrong, rang its bells until a dictator fell, and claims to speak for the nation’s conscience. I do not mean the faith, nor the millions who kneel each week for an honest government. I mean the men in robes — bishops and priests who found their voice when one official displeased them and lost it when half a trillion vanished. Worse are the ones who built their own ministries, grew rich off the faithful, and when exposed wrapped themselves in Scripture and cried persecution. They use God as a hiding place. A church that can shout at a rival but cannot whisper against a thief has given up the only power it had. It no longer guards the nation’s conscience. It rents it out.
A word to those still inside. When a church runs on political money and shady deals and takes a side like a party, it is no longer a church. Walk out. To stay and call it faith is the hypocrisy.
Then the universities, where we send our children to learn how to think, and once, right from wrong. The campuses that emptied into the streets when something felt wrong now keep their students indoors. Teachers paid to sharpen young minds hand out conclusions, not questions, telling them what to believe and whom to blame. A school that trains its students to stay quiet and safe has stopped being a school. The country’s flood walls were hollow. So, it turns out, were its classrooms.
Groups meant to be independent do not, by chance, fall silent on one robbery and loud on one target at once. They are no longer guardians. They are a single party — and EDSA, once something Filipinos did, is now something they belong to, with members, patrons, and enemies. The dues are simple: tahimik about the theft, maingay about the enemy, and your chair stays warm.
I marched beside many of you, and believed you. Your silence now is louder than any brave word you said. You named a price for your beliefs, and now stand with the people you once called thieves.
None of this began this year. In 2001 the same crowds threw out a president for stealing; the next batch took his chairs. We never had an opposition, only people waiting their turn.
So the young learn the lesson we teach: silence buys a job, a title, a safe side — they will inherit it and call it peace. The rest is simply pagod, worn thin by scandal after scandal, and the powerful count on it.
EDSA was not killed by tanks; it was smothered. Patay na ang kabayo — the horse is dead, and the horse was the nation’s conscience. It did not fall on its own. The turncoats and newsrooms only sold what they always sell. But two keepers were sworn to keep the animal alive: the Church that promised to teach us right from wrong, and the schools that promised the same to our children. Both stood watch and let it starve. If the nation’s conscience is dead, these two killed it. Tanungin ang pumatay — ask who let the horse die, and you will find them in robes and gowns.
Disclaimer: The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and are intended to encourage public discussion on governance and national issues. They do not represent any official position of the institutions the author may be affiliated with.
Dr. Paul Y. Chua holds doctoral degrees in fiscal management and in peace and security, a master’s in national security administration, and an engineering degree in electronics and communications. He writes on Philippine governance, national security, and fiscal policy. Full profile at pychua.com.
Originally published by The Daily Chronicle.