The Grease of Greed: Unpacking the Tara System in Philippine Customs

By Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo — February 25, 2025

IN THE quiet hum of a warehouse in Capas, Tarlac, a betrayal was brewing. Last weekend, news broke of a plot to resell P270 million worth of smuggled cigarettes—seized years ago at Subic, meant for the crusher—allegedly during a shift change at the Bureau of Customs (BOC). Commissioner Bienvenido Rubio roared, “Heads will roll,” promising a National Bureau of Investigation (NBI) probe into his own ranks and Hazchem North, the disposal firm now under a cloud. But for Filipinos, this isn’t a shock; it’s a rerun. At the heart of this scandal—and countless others—lies a word whispered in ports from Manila to Cebu: “tara.”

Tara’s Human Face

Meet Maria, a fictional customs clerk at the Port of Manila. She earns P30,000 a month checking shipments that could hide millions in contraband. One day, a broker slides her an envelope: P50,000 to look the other way on a crate of “furniture” stuffed with cigarettes. That’s tara—cash for clearance, a bribe so baked into the BOC it’s practically policy. In Capas, tara might’ve turned a blind eye as those cigarettes slipped back to the streets. It’s not new; it’s the grease that’s kept this machine grinding for decades.

A Legacy of Collusion

The tara system isn’t a side hustle—it’s the backbone of BOC corruption. In 2017, customs broker Mark Taguba blew the whistle during a Senate probe into a P6.4 billion shabu shipment that waltzed through Manila’s port. He named names, alleging then-Commissioner Nicanor Faeldon pocketed P100 million to let it pass. Faeldon denied it, but Taguba painted a picture: a tariff-like schedule where officers collected fixed rates per container—P50,000 here, P200,000 there—shared up the chain. No drugs, no cigarettes, no steel moved without tara’s blessing. The shabu was seized later in Valenzuela, but the damage was done: trust in the BOC cratered.

The echoes are loud. In 2018, P2.4 billion in shabu hit Manila’s port in magnetic lifters; four more, suspected to hold P11 billion worth, vanished before a Cavite raid. Insiders tipped the smugglers—tara at work. President Duterte raged, calling the BOC a “state of lawlessness,” yet no big fish fried. Fast forward to 2024: the BOC nabbed P85.1 billion in smuggled goods across 2,100 operations. A win? Maybe, but X users speculated insiders skimmed P4.42 billion from 500 containers yearly—tara’s cut, unproven but plausible. The Capas cigarettes, allegedly rerouted mid-disposal, fit this mold: tara doesn’t just sneak goods in; it sneaks them back out.

Historical Roots of Rot

Historically, tara’s tendrils stretch deep. The 2014-2015 Cebu rice smuggling case—P1.2 billion worth—saw BOC officials allegedly greased to let 21,000 bags through. Faeldon, again in the hot seat, faced graft charges in 2021, but justice crawls. In 2019, the Presidential Anti-Corruption Commission flagged steel undervaluation—9 million tons misdeclared in 2018 alone, costing billions in taxes. Tara fueled it, with 52 officials shuffled to Congress, only to drift back. Each scandal—drugs, rice, steel—circles back to this: a system where duty bows to payoffs.

Failed Fixes

Past fixes have floundered against tara’s grip. Personnel reshuffles—like Guerrero’s 2022 move of 249 staff—scatter networks temporarily, but they regrow. The 2021 Customs Modernization Program brought scanners, yet humans override them for the right price. External probes, like the NBI’s in Capas or the PACC’s steel audit, spark headlines but fizzle—lowly clerks like Maria take the fall, not the architects. Faeldon’s reassignment to prisons after 2017, not jail, says it all: tara protects its own.

Turning the Tide

But there’s a way out—if the Philippines dares to grab it. Start with tech: a blockchain ledger could track every container, every cigarette pack, from seizure to shredder. South Korea slashed smuggling 30% since 2018 with this—tara can’t bribe a digital ID. In Capas, real-time logs might’ve flagged that shift-change hustle. Add AI scanners; the U.S. caught 15% more contraband since 2020 by cutting human discretion. It’s not free, but P85 billion in seizures could bankroll it.

Next, break the cliques. Rotate staff every six months—Singapore’s playbook keeps tara from rooting. Random polygraphs for Maria and her peers could catch the envelope before it’s opened. Pay her better—P50,000, not P30,000—matching private logistics gigs. Malaysia doubled customs salaries in 2015; bribery fell 25%. Offer whistleblower bonuses—10% of recovered loot—and jail tara’s kingpins for life, no pleas. Duterte’s fury lacked follow-through; make it law.

Oversight must bite. A task force—NBI, civil society, foreign advisors like Australia’s border pros—could raid ports unannounced, livestreaming destructions. The NBI’s Capas role is a start; make it permanent, with teeth to prosecute. And let Filipinos in: post seizure stats monthly on X—P270 million in cigarettes, gone or not? A hotline for tips, bypassing BOC insiders, turns rage into results. Georgia’s 2003 customs overhaul proved public eyes can kill corruption.

The Stakes—and the Hope

Tara won’t die easy. It’s outlasted purges and probes, adapting like a virus. But choke its air—tech, rotation, pay, oversight, sunlight—and it weakens. Capas might’ve been snuffed with tracked shifts and better-paid guards. Transparency International’s Delia Ferreira Rubio argues corruption thrives in shadows; tara’s no exception. The BOC could be a gatekeeper, not a tollbooth.

This is bigger than cigarettes. It’s Maria’s choice—envelope or duty—and a nation’s loss: taxes bled, drugs loosed, faith eroded. Rubio’s “heads will roll” rings empty without a guillotine for tara. Filipinos deserve a BOC that serves, not steals. So, Manila, strike: track the goods, pay the clerks, open the books. Tara’s reign can end—but only if you demand it.