The Double Life of Jinggoy Estrada

Part senator, part scandal magnet, full-time burden to democracy.

By Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo — September 14, 2025

GOOD evening, Pilipinas—tonight’s feature: Corruption, Betrayal, and a Love Triangle. Think less teleserye, more crime documentary: Estrada allegedly pocketing flood control millions, Tarroza threatening to air dirty laundry, and Serrano dragged in like collateral damage. It’s not love in the time of cholera, it’s theft in the time of typhoons. And while the nation gawks at the melodrama, the real victims aren’t Tarroza’s relationships but the taxpayers who keep paying for senators who treat public office like their personal subscription to Netflix drama.

Act I: The Engineer vs. The Ex-Boyfriend

Scene One: Brice Ericson Hernandez, a DPWH engineer, walks in with folders, spreadsheets, and sworn testimony. He names names, points to P355 million in ghost flood projects. The receipts are thicker than a teleserye script.

Scene Two: Enter Robby Tarroza, shirtless in spirit, screaming on Facebook: “Jinggoy mag resign ka na!!! Otherwise I’ll reveal your double life!!!” The crowd gasps. Suddenly, the national conversation shifts from missing millions to missing boyfriends.

Narrator (me, Barok): In this country, the whistleblower with documents gets one news cycle. The bitter ex with Wi-Fi gets the entire season.

Act II: Character Development? Never.

Jinggoy Estrada: Our anti-hero. Previous scandals include: plunder, bribery, graft. Current plotline: accused of stealing flood-control funds while chairing an anti-corruption committee. His brand is corruption so consistent it deserves its own franchise. Think Marvel Cinematic Universe, except every film is called How to Steal and Get Reelected.

Robby Tarroza: Supporting actor turned main villain. Claims to have “ALL the receipts” but delivers none. His dialogue is all-caps, his strategy all-drama. Less Edward Snowden, more Nora Aunor in Bituing Walang Ningning. He shouts, he curses, he trends — but without evidence, he’s just Estrada’s accidental PR man.

Brice Hernandez: The unsung extra. He brings documents, hard evidence, and sworn testimony. Naturally, he is sidelined, because in this teleserye, the boring guy with spreadsheets can’t compete with Facebook chismis.

Act III: The Filipino Audience

Why are we like this? Because we prefer gossip over governance. A senator accused of stealing P355 million? Meh. A senator accused of ruining a love triangle from That’s Entertainment? Blockbuster! We’re drowning in floods, but the real tragedy is we’re also drowning in telenovela logic.

Act IV: Forecast of Future Episodes

If Tarroza finally shows receipts: Estrada’s ratings collapse. Cue courtroom drama.
If Tarroza keeps screaming without proof: Estrada plays the martyr. Cue campaign ad.
If Hernandez is ignored: Cue another sequel, Flood Control Scandal Part II: The Return of the Kickbacks.

Meanwhile, the audience (a.k.a. the Filipino people) will keep laughing, crying, and sharing memes, forgetting that their taxes bankroll the entire production.

Curtain Call

So let’s rewrite the script:

Tarroza: Stop auditioning. File an affidavit. Or fade to black.
Estrada: Resign. Or better yet, confess — and give us the closure this long-running soap never had.
Hernandez: Stay alive, stay loud. You’re the only character with substance.
Filipino voters: Turn off the teleserye. Demand real drama — in court, not on Facebook.

Because unless we change the channel, we’ll be stuck forever watching reruns of The Estrada Show, season after season, scandal after scandal, with the same ending: they steal, we laugh, nothing changes.