In the cutthroat arena of Philippine politics, a single accusation can ignite a wildfire. Last week, the “Saldiko” video—a digital confession from a fugitive congressman alleging massive, top-down corruption—shook the political landscape. But that was only the opening salvo. Now, the battlefield has shifted: a counter-attack targets the very figures who have long claimed the moral high ground.
The original “Saldiko” confession accused top officials of orchestrating billion-peso budget “insertions” and suggested he was set up as a scapegoat. As the dust settles, a new narrative has emerged, aimed squarely at two political heavyweights: former Senator Panfilo “Ping” Lacson and former Senate President Vicente “Tito” Sotto III.
The allegation, spreading rapidly across social media and political vlogs, claims that Lacson and Sotto cannot criticize the current administration because, during their own Senate tenures, they allegedly engaged in the same “insertion” practices. The story hinges on an unnamed “Senate staffer,” who reportedly confirmed that billions were routinely channeled into personal or pet projects under their watch.
If true, these claims strike at the core of Lacson’s reputation. Long celebrated as the nation’s “budget hawk,” the man who scrutinized every line of the national budget to fight corruption, he is now being recast as the ultimate hypocrite. For decades, his image as a crusader against pork-barrel spending has been his defining brand; these new allegations threaten to dismantle it completely.
Commentators pushing this narrative argue that the “Saldiko” video revealed only half the truth. The real story, they insist, is systemic: that the corruption Saldiko exposed is business as usual, perfected over decades by figures like Lacson and Sotto. In social media parlance, the term “Teklop”—meaning “finished” or “defeated”—is now being applied to them, suggesting their days of moral grandstanding are over.
This tactic is a textbook case of political “whataboutism.” The focus shifts from the current administration’s alleged misconduct to a broader question: Hasn’t everyone been corrupt? By targeting Lacson and Sotto, the narrative neutralizes two of the most vocal critics and paints the system itself as the true culprit.
The anonymous “Senate staffer” is central to this counterattack. Their alleged confession details how, during bicameral budget conferences, the senators’ offices prepared and inserted projects—often at the last minute—mirroring the very process Saldiko described.
Lacson has always defended his actions as institutional and programmatic, arguing that his amendments were transparent and intended to fund neglected areas like national defense and disaster relief. Critics now claim these were no different from “pork” projects, merely rebranded, and that the staffer’s revelations expose the long-hidden methods of a system where no one’s hands are truly clean.
This unfolding saga is a battle for the narrative. The Saldiko video challenged the current government; the counter-video defending Lacson and Sotto fights back. Public opinion becomes the battlefield, with political commentators acting as both reporters and combatants, framing allies as righteous and enemies as complicit.
For the public, the result is dizzying. Each new allegation reflects back on another, creating a hall of mirrors where the truth is elusive. Was Saldiko a scapegoat, or a whistleblower? Is the “Senate staffer” real, or a convenient device to discredit critics? Or is the system itself the ultimate mastermind, with the real corruption lying not in individuals but in the structure that allows billions to flow unchecked?
As this drama unfolds, with taxpayer money at stake, one question remains: are there any heroes left—or only thieves arguing over the spoils? The real “top secret” may not be who was corrupt or who was framed, but that the system itself has long been running the show.