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From a bird’s-eye, the politics in our country can look neat. Projects are announced, funds are released, names of powerful clans are repeated as proof of progress. On paper, everything seems to move forward. But zoom closer, and the cracks start to appear. In Bulacan last August, a ₱96.49 million flood wall—meant to shield thousands from disaster—was already collapsing. President Marcos called it a “ghost project.” In Iloilo, other flood defenses linked to the Discaya family failed or stalled. While officials in Manila spoke of development, residents waded through floodwater, staring at broken stone and broken promises. The trail led back to the Discayas. At a Senate hearing, Sarah Discaya denied owning construction firms—until DPWH records showed she controlled nine of them, sometimes bidding against each other for the same contracts. Nearly ₱100 billion in flood-control money flowed through just fifteen companies, and hers appeared again and again. Still, many believed her words at first. Why? Because she dropped powerful names—- former undersecretary of the Office of the Presidential Assistant for the Visayas Terrence Calatrava; Marikina Rep. Marcelino Teodoro; Pasig City Rep. Roman Romulo and others. This strategy only deepened in the hearings, when both her and her husband, Pacifico “Curlee”, offered to become state witnesses. The family claimed that they were forced into anomalous bidding by lawmakers and DPWH officials, who allegedly demanded 10 to 25 percent cuts from project funds. He named aides, congressmen, even former committee heads, saying they collected cash payments recorded in ledgers and vouchers. On the surface, this sounded like courage—an exposé of a system rotten from the top down. But credibility is fragile. If the Discayas once denied ownership of companies that records later proved were theirs, how can the public be sure their testimonies now are more than another maneuver for survival? If they lied before, what stops them from lying again? Meanwhile, the family garage told its own story: Rolls-Royces, Bentleys, Porsches—almost 40 cars worth ₱465 million. The contrast was impossible to miss: while entire communities lined up for relief goods, those tasked with protecting them parked luxury on luxury. From above, the bird’s-eye view still shows movement—money changing hands, projects listed as “ongoing,” powerful names echoing in defense. But on the ground, people are left with broken walls, missing embankments, and the same unanswered question: will we keep mistaking lies for truth, even when the ground says otherwise?