The Senate’s Backstab Bonanza: Lacson’s Fall in a Den of Thieves

By Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo — October 7, 2015

A Senate Coup in the Chamber’s Shady Salon

In the witching hours of the Senate’s gilded chambers, Panfilo “Ping” Lacson, the self-anointed knight of anti-corruption, wasn’t felled by the rabble of netizens or the sting of public scorn. No, his head rolled at the hands of his own colleagues, a velvet-gloved execution wrapped in the dainty excuse of “collegial dissatisfaction.” This wasn’t a resignation; it was a political assassination, a grim tableau proving the Philippines’ so-called accountability system is a house of mirrors, reflecting only the interests of the powerful. The real question isn’t why Lacson stepped down—it’s who sharpened the blade to protect the multi-billion-peso flood control scandal from his prying eyes.

Dissecting the Hit: Stepping on Toes or Kicking a Hornet’s Nest?

The official narrative is a farce so flimsy it could double as tissue paper: Lacson, we’re told, bowed out because his peers were peeved about tardy documents and scheduling hiccups. Oh, the horror of a delayed DOJ report! Spare us the crocodile tears. The Blue Ribbon Committee, under Lacson’s iron gavel, was slicing through a cesspool of corruption—kickbacks, ghost projects, and flood control failures that left communities submerged while public coffers were looted. Heavyweight names like former House Speaker Martin Romualdez and ex-congressman Zaldy Co were next in the committee’s crosshairs. Was Lacson’s probe too sharp, his subpoenas too bold? Or did he trip a wire in the Senate’s unspoken code: thou shalt not expose the untouchables?

The evidence screams one truth: Lacson wasn’t ousted for missing a deadline. He was shoved out because his crusade was singeing the toes of the powerful. Whistleblowers like Brice Hernandez had already dropped bombshells, naming senators—Jinggoy Estrada, Joel Villanueva, Nancy Binay—in tales of cash-stuffed envelopes and rigged bids. With billions in public funds at stake, the Senate’s majority bloc didn’t need a public vote to dispatch Lacson; a few hushed murmurs, a nod in the shadows, and the message was clear: back off, or you’re done. The timing—mid-probe, with Romualdez and Co on deck—stinks of a surgical strike to shield the guilty.

The Senate’s Rogues’ Gallery: Who Wielded the Dagger?

Lacson is no choirboy. His farewell speech oozed noble defiance, vowing to “fight a corrupt and rotten system” from the sidelines. But is this the grand exit of a martyr or the sly retreat of a general dodging a losing war? Lacson’s anti-corruption credentials are storied, yet his abrupt surrender smells of pragmatism—or was the pressure, perhaps from Malacañang’s long shadow or the Senate’s own kingpins, too crushing to defy?

The “disappointed” colleagues skulk in anonymity, their gripes as vague as a politician’s campaign promise. Senator Rodante Marcoleta, who sparred with Lacson over alleged bias in handling witnesses, emerges as a prime suspect. His accusation that Lacson prejudged whistleblowers reeks of a deeper agenda—was he guarding allies or currying favor with the majority? Then there’s Imee Marcos, feigning confusion over rumors of a canned probe and a partial report, only to be snapped at by Lacson to attend hearings. Her bewilderment mirrors the public’s, but it also exposes a Senate where backroom deals outpace daylight.

And the successor? If Marcoleta or another pliant figure ascends to the chair, the fix is in: a loyal gatekeeper to smother the investigation under a pile of “scheduling conflicts.” The majority bloc’s pick will unmask their intent—resurrection of the probe or its quiet burial.

The Reek of Impunity: A Republic Choking on Its Own Rot

The fallout is already rancid. The Blue Ribbon hearings are “suspended until further notice,” a bureaucratic sleight-of-hand to let evidence rot and witnesses scatter. In Bulacan and beyond, communities ravaged by floods from shoddy projects are left to wade through despair while the Senate fusses over budget debates and Commission on Appointments. The message to whistleblowers is brutal: speak truth, and the system will gut its own champions to shield the corrupt. The P955 million allegedly siphoned could have funded schools, hospitals, or real dikes—yet it evaporates, and the Senate yawns.

The long-term stench is worse. Lacson’s ouster proves the system isn’t broken; it’s a well-oiled machine designed to protect its own. Every future whistleblower now knows the price of courage: a chairmanship lost, a probe derailed. Every crooked official sees a neon sign: push hard, and the Senate will buckle. This single act cements impunity more than a thousand ghost projects ever could—a masterclass in elite self-preservation.

The Gavel’s Verdict: A Call to Storm the Bastille

The Senate isn’t inept; it’s diabolically adept at guarding its own. Its members aren’t bunglers but maestros of a system that thrives on opacity and mutual back-scratching. Lacson’s vow to “fight from the outside” is a hollow quip—a press release from a general who ditched his post. If he means it, he must do more than tweet platitudes. Name the culprits. Expose the deals. Rally the people to demand justice.

The way forward is steep but urgent. Appoint an independent special prosecutor, walled off from Senate scheming and Malacañang’s grip, to resurrect the flood control probe. Civil society must swarm the streets, demanding the committee’s documents, subpoenas, and communications be laid bare. The media must stop penning this as a bureaucratic blip and scream it for what it is: a democratic heart attack. International watchdogs should train their gaze on a Senate that prefers shadows to sunlight.

This isn’t just a resignation. It’s a betrayal of every Filipino who believed the Senate could hold power accountable. The floodwaters will rise again, and the rot Lacson exposed will fester—unless the public demands a reckoning. The real question is whether we’ll let the Senate’s silent daggers kill the truth, or whether we’ll fight to claw it back into the open.