Halloween arrived in the weekend, and Filipinos were again regaled with the usual parade of ghosts, witches, vampires and other creatures of the night.
But as in previous years, and likely in the years to come, the traditional Halloween creatures are facing formidable competition. In the Philippines, the scariest ones are not limited to cemeteries and other dark haunts. Some are inhabiting project documents, budget allocations and certificates of completion.
Why settle for an ordinary ghost that merely rattles chains when there are ghost projects that can rattle the National Treasury?
Why fear a vampire that sucks the lifeblood when an unscrupulous contractor can suck millions of pesos from public funds without constructing even a drainage canal?
And why worry about zombies wandering the landscape when some government projects can be declared completed before they were ever begun?
Welcome to the Halloween Republic, where the supernatural has apparently discovered the extraordinary earning potential of public infrastructure.
The ghosts of DPWH
Consider the humble ghost. In folklore, it is invisible, elusive and extremely difficult to photograph.
In public works, its more sophisticated cousin can apparently possess a project number, approved budget, contractor, inspection report and certificate of completion. Everything exists—except, sometimes, the project itself.
The Commission on Audit has documented irregularities involving flood-control structures that auditors could not find at their approved locations. Some were reportedly paid for despite being missing, relocated without proper authorization, or represented by structures built years earlier.
This is paranormal engineering at its finest.
Ordinary engineers need concrete, steel, labor and months of construction. The ghost-project specialist apparently needs something considerably lighter: paperwork.
Imagine the savings on cement! Unfortunately, the savings do not necessarily reach the taxpayer.
One could almost hear a fictional contractor reassuring a skeptical official thus:
“Sir, the project is 100-percent complete.”
“But where is it?”
“Sir, you must have faith. Not everything important is visible.”
Perhaps, instead of the Department of Public Works and Highways, a Department of Paranormal Works and Hauntings should be established. At least then, the acronym would fit, and remain familiar.
Trick or treat, government edition
When children celebrate Halloween, the arrangement is simple. They knock on a door, shout “Trick or treat!” and receive a few candies or other goodies.
In the corrupt version of the game, the taxpayer provides the treats and the public receives the tricks. The treats may run into millions, even billions, of pesos! The tricks come in assorted flavors: questionable project certifications, suspiciously familiar contractors, dubious accomplishments and structures that appear to have mastered the art of invisibility.
The children go home with chocolates. The public goes home with higher taxes, deteriorating roads and flooded neighborhoods.
And somewhere, perhaps, a politician is celebrating Halloween with a considerably more luxurious candy bag.
The truly ingenious part is that the trick can continue long after Oct. 31.
For ordinary Filipinos, Halloween lasts one night. For corruption, the party apparently has no closing time.
The vampire economy
Traditional vampires have one major weakness: sunlight. The modern corruption vampire has a different weakness: transparency.
Expose the contracts, payments, beneficial owners, inspection photographs and actual project sites to daylight, and the creature becomes uncomfortable, starts gasping for breath.
This explains why genuine transparency is far more frightening to corruption than garlic or a wooden stake.
Imagine a public works Halloween costume contest. The first prize goes to the Invisible Flood-Control Wall. The second goes to the Self-Certifying Contractor. The third goes to the Budget-Eating Vampire.
And the lifetime achievement award? It goes to the Phantom Beneficiary, whose name never appears prominently in the documents but who somehow seems to benefit whenever public money disappears.
Of course, actual guilt must be established through evidence and due process. Allegations are not convictions, and honest public servants should not be lumped together with those under investigation.
But the recurring audit findings have made one thing painfully clear: The country’s procurement and project-monitoring systems have permitted serious vulnerabilities.
That is certainly no laughing matter.
The real horror story
Behind every questionable flood-control project is a community that has been denied protection. A family fearfully watching muddy waters rising above their doorstep. A mother lifting her child onto a table as floodwaters enter their home. A small shopkeeper losing another month’s income. A patient unable to reach a hospital because the road has disappeared beneath the flood.
As a physician, I find this particularly disturbing. Corruption is not merely an accounting irregularity. It can become a public-health hazard.
When drainage systems fail, contaminated floodwater increases exposure to infectious diseases, including leptospirosis. Displacement disrupts treatment for hypertension, diabetes and other chronic illnesses. Floods can also produce injury, psychological distress and substantial economic hardship.
A peso stolen from infrastructure is not always just a peso lost. It may represent protection never delivered.
The real horror is not that a flood-control wall has vanished. It is that the people who needed it remain exposed to the next flood.
Exorcising a ghost project
Fortunately, the solution does not require tons of holy water. It requires honest engineering, independent auditing, effective prosecution, and something government procurement has too often lacked: consequences.
Every major public works project should have a publicly accessible digital record showing its exact location, contractor, approved cost, implementation schedule, payment status and independently verified progress.
Geotagged photographs and satellite imagery should make it difficult for invisible infrastructure to receive very visible payments.
Completion certificates must be backed by genuine physical inspection.
Contractors and officials found responsible for fraud should face appropriate criminal, civil and administrative proceedings, with the recovery of misappropriated public funds wherever legally possible.
Whistleblowers must be protected.
And oversight must reach beyond the low-ranking signatory to anyone who knowingly planned, facilitated or profited from a fraudulent scheme.
The objective should not be another annual festival of investigations. It should be a procurement system in which ghost projects cannot survive long enough for the proponents to collect their first payment.
The morning after
There is something almost admirable about the honesty of Halloween. Children openly announce that they are wearing costumes. The witch admits she is a witch. The vampire makes no secret of his appetite. Even the ghost does not pretend to be a functioning flood-control structure.
Perhaps that is what makes corruption more unsettling than the supernatural.
The creatures of Halloween frighten us for entertainment. Corruption can frighten communities through consequences that are painfully real.
On Nov. 1, the Halloween decorations will be taken down. The masks will be returned to their boxes. The ghosts will disappear—until next year.
But questionable projects, missing public funds and unfinished flood-control structures will not disappear quite so conveniently.
And when the next typhoon arrives, the public will discover whether its taxes paid for concrete protection—or merely an expensive ghost story.
In the end, the scariest thing about Halloween in government is not that ghosts exist. It is that some may have been paid in full. CS
Dr. Rafael R. Castillo is a cardiologist, educator, and public health advocate. He was president of the Philippine Heart Association (PHA) and the Asian Pacific Society of Hypertension, and was a longtime health columnist of the Inquirer. He has over 45 awards to his name, including the PHA Lifetime Achievement Award, and continues to champion preventive cardiology and public health reforms here and abroad.
