When senators are being investigated, assets frozen, and reputations dragged through the mud, why does Martin Romualdez—the former Speaker and alleged architect of the flood control fund scandal—remain conspicuously absent from the crosshairs of justice? Despite sworn testimonies, whistleblower accounts, and mounting public outrage, Romualdez continues to elude scrutiny. Is this silence a symptom of power so entrenched it overrides accountability?
Senator Chiz Escudero’s privilege speech didn’t just defend his name—it exposed a troubling choreography of diversion and protection. Escudero alleges that Romualdez masterminded a smear campaign against the Senate to deflect attention from the House, where the real trail of corruption leads. The testimonies are damning: protected witnesses, contractors, and even a former congressional staffer have linked Romualdez to illicit fund deliveries and political maneuvering. Yet the Department of Justice, the NBI, and the Anti-Money Laundering Council remain curiously quiet.
Romualdez’s response? A blanket denial and a promise to cooperate with “impartial investigations.” But how impartial can an investigation be when the most powerful figure named isn’t even summoned? His retort—that Escudero’s speech was a recycled “DDS script”—sidesteps the substance entirely. It’s not a rebuttal. It’s a dismissal.
Escudero’s rhetorical question—“Ganito ba katindi ang kapangyarihang hawak ni Martin Romualdez?”—is more than political theater. It’s a challenge to the integrity of our institutions. Romualdez has become, in Escudero’s words, “the name that cannot be mentioned,” a figure so politically insulated that even the scent of scandal fails to trigger inquiry.
The flood control mess is no longer just about misused funds. It’s about how narratives are shaped to protect the powerful. Escudero points out that the DPWH officials who testified against senators failed to mention a single congressman—despite the fact that district-level projects fall under House jurisdiction. That omission isn’t oversight. It’s orchestration.
And then there’s the FLR funds—allegedly used by Romualdez to pressure House members into signing an impeachment complaint against Vice President Sara Duterte. Escudero claims these funds were dangled as leverage: sign the complaint or lose your district allocations. If true, it’s a chilling example of how public money is weaponized for political ambition.
Romualdez insists he has nothing to hide. But until he is investigated with the same rigor applied to others, that claim remains untested. Justice that tiptoes around power is not justice—it’s performance. And the longer this act continues, the more the public begins to see through the curtain.
