30 Contracts at 20: The Solar Scandal Legarda Can’t Leave in France

How a 20-Year-Old Got 64% of the Solar Market While Mom Chaired the Budget Committee

Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo — September 15, 2026

FORGIVE me if I’m struggling to follow the logic here.

A 20-year-old kid walks into the Department of Energy (DOE) in 2013 and walks out with more than 30 renewable energy service contracts. His mother just happens to be a sitting Senator. And now, thirteen years later, the Office of the Ombudsman wants to know whether this was really good entrepreneurship or something that smells like a three-day-old fish left in a Manila attic.

The Legarda camp’s response? “Waste of prosecution resources.”

Ah yes. The classic “nothing to see here, move along” defense. Because when you’re a political dynasty with thirty years of unblemished public service, apparently the burden of proof shifts entirely to the prosecution.

Let me tell you what’s absurd. What’s absurd is that the spokesperson is simultaneously arguing

(a) no government money was stolen,
(b) the votes were unanimous,
(c) the son is a successful businessman, and
(d) 90% of his renewable energy initiatives failed. All in the same breath. Pick a lane, counselor.

***“Mother Budget Chair + Son Solar King + 90% Failure Rate = Medical Leave in Paris”***

The “No Government Money” Canard

Tony La Viña wants us to believe that because the solar projects were privately financed, there’s no crime. This is legally illiterate nonsense dressed up in a barong.

Republic Act (RA) 3019, Section 3(e) doesn’t require stolen government money. It requires giving a private party an unwarranted benefit, advantage, or preference. You can give someone the moon without spending a peso from the Treasury.

And what exactly was given here? According to the Ombudsman, Leviste’s companies accumulated 11,427 megawatts of renewable energy contracts—representing 64% of all terminated capacity in the DOE’s 2024-2025 cleanup. That’s not a market participant. That’s a monopoly in waiting.

That’s one guy holding the keys to more than half the country’s renewable energy pipeline while his mother chaired a Senate committee that oversees… wait for it… the budget of the agencies regulating his business.

But sure, nothing to see here.

The Franchise Follies: Abstention as Alibi

The Legarda camp’s crown jewel is that she abstained from the 2019 vote on her son’s 25-year congressional franchise under RA 11357, the Solar Para sa Bayan Franchise Act. She even said she did it out of delicadeza—that quaint Filipino concept of propriety that apparently only applies when someone is watching.

How noble. How utterly, legally, incomplete.

The Ombudsman isn’t alleging she voted for the franchise. The Ombudsman is alleging she participated in a conspiracy to “secure exclusive government rights over the country’s solar energy resources through legislative and regulatory actions.” The vote is one data point. What about the committee hearings? The informal conversations? The budget oversight that kept the DOE pliant?

You don’t need to cast a vote to pull strings. You just need to be the person everyone knows not to cross.

And here’s the beautiful irony: the franchise was enacted in April 2019—right before Legarda’s term ended on June 30, 2019. A parting gift, perhaps? The timing is… chef’s kiss… for skeptics.

The ₱24 Billion Question Nobody Wants to Answer

La Viña boldly declares: “Walang so-called 24 billion or 10 billion. Not a single document asking him to pay for that.”

Except the Department of Energy under Secretary Sharon Garin has assessed ₱24 billion in performance bonds and contractual obligations against Solar Philippines. And as of September 2026, the government had recovered… wait for it… ₱80 million. That’s 0.33% of the assessed amount.

Less than one percent. After months of “enforcement.”

So either the ₱24 billion figure is fabricated political persecution, or the government is spectacularly incompetent at collecting debts. La Viña can’t have it both ways. If the debt doesn’t exist, why is the Office of the Solicitor General handling civil recovery? If it does exist, why is the collection rate worse than a sari-sari store’s utang ledger?

The defense’s own narrative is collapsing under the weight of its contradictions.

The Vanishing Act: Medical Leave as Legal Strategy

Legarda has been on medical leave since August 3, 2026, with extensions piling up like unpaid DOE penalties. Leviste secured a two-month travel authority from July 26 to September 24. Both are reportedly in France. The Ombudsman has openly speculated about asylum.

Nothing says “innocent” quite like fleeing to a country with no extradition treaty for plunder.

The Ombudsman’s spokesperson put it diplomatically: “If you are out of the country, it adds to the speculation or adds to the suspicion.” Let me translate: Flight is evidence of guilt under Rule 130, Section 34 of the Rules on Evidence. The defense can call it “medical treatment” all they want, but the optics are terrible. You don’t need a law degree to understand that running away from an investigation looks like… running away.

And the defense’s response to questions about their return? “We don’t ask that question kasi hindi ko naman place ‘yon.” Translation: We have no intention of giving you a straight answer.

The MGEN Shell Game: Franchise Flipping for Fun and Profit

Ombudsman Remulla accused Leviste of “flipping” the solar franchise to Manny Pangilinan’s Meralco group. Leviste denies it, saying SPBC—the franchise holder—ipso facto lost its franchise when it stopped operating in 2022. MGEN says it never bought SPBC; it bought SPNEC, a “separate and distinct” entity.

How convenient.

So let’s map this out: Leviste creates Solar Para sa Bayan Corporation (SPBC) → SPBC gets a 25-year congressional franchise → Leviste creates SP New Energy Corporation (SPNEC) → SPNEC accumulates renewable energy contracts → MGEN buys SPNEC for ₱15+ billion → SPBC becomes defunct → the franchise evaporates.

And Leviste uses the proceeds to buy… ABS-CBN shares. Because nothing says “passive investment” like buying into the media company where your mother started her career.

The corporate restructuring is so labyrinthine that it requires a forensic accountant, a corporate lawyer, and possibly a priest to untangle. But sure, nothing to see here.

What the Defense Doesn’t Want You to Notice

The Legarda camp has constructed a narrative of victimhood so elaborate it would make a telenovela writer blush. But notice what they don’t address:

Why did a 20-year-old get 30+ contracts? The Ombudsman says this created a “monopoly.” La Viña’s response? “That’s the nature of the business.” No, Tony. That’s the nature of political connections.

Why did 90% of the projects fail? La Viña admits this. But his explanation—”that’s the nature of the business”—is an insult to every legitimate renewable energy developer who actually built something. Failure isn’t a defense. It’s evidence of either incompetence or intent not to deliver.

Why did the government collect only 0.33% of assessed penalties? If the companies are genuinely liable, why is enforcement so anemic? If they’re not liable, why is the government wasting time? Someone is lying.

Why are both mother and son abroad during a preliminary investigation? The Ombudsman says the counter-affidavits were filed late. When you’re innocent, you don’t need to be dragged back to the country to clear your name.

The “Political Persecution” Card: Playing the Victim

La Viña calls the investigation “classic lawfare” and “political persecution.” He links it to Leviste’s public attacks on corruption—specifically the so-called “Cabral files” and alleged infrastructure-budget irregularities.

Let’s examine this theory. The solar controversy predates Leviste’s whistleblower turn. The DOE’s ₱24 billion assessment was announced in January 2026. The Ombudsman investigation was underway before the political narrative shifted. And the DOE is an independent executive agency, not the Ombudsman’s puppet.

Is political persecution possible? Sure. Philippine politics is a blood sport. But calling every investigation “persecution” is the last refuge of the genuinely guilty. If Leviste has nothing to hide, he should open the books, produce the documents, and let the chips fall.

Instead, his lawyer is on radio complaining about “waste of prosecution resources.”

The Ombudsman has a constitutional mandate to investigate high-ranking officials, grave offenses, and large sums of money. A sitting Senator and a sitting Congressman allegedly involved in ₱10+ billion in irregularities is exactly the kind of case the Ombudsman exists to handle. If La Viña thinks this is a waste, he should file a complaint against the Ombudsman for dereliction of duty.

The Bottom Line: A Defense Built on Sand

I’m not declaring Legarda and Leviste guilty. That’s for the Sandiganbayan to decide, if it ever gets that far. The preliminary investigation standard is probable cause—a low bar, but a bar nonetheless.

But the Legarda camp’s public defense isn’t a legal argument. It’s a PR campaign. It’s designed to muddy the waters, shift the burden of proof, and convince the public that any investigation of a political family is inherently illegitimate.

The facts on the record tell a different story:

30+ contracts to a 20-year-old
64% of terminated renewable capacity
₱24 billion in assessed penalties
0.33% collected
90% project failure rate
Both targets abroad during investigation
Corporate restructuring that defies simple explanation

If this were anyone else—a businessman without a Senator mother—the Ombudsman wouldn’t be accused of persecution. The accused would be in jail.

But in the Philippines, political families play by different rules. And when the rules start to apply, they scream persecution.

The Ombudsman should proceed. The defense should return. The books should be opened. And the public should remember: when someone says “nothing to see here,” that’s usually when you should look hardest.

Louis ‘Barok’ C Biraogo is a blogger who has never received 30 government contracts, probably because his mother isn’t a Senator.