During Monday’s Senate blue ribbon committee hearing, Sen. Erwin Tulfo was astounded to discover that investigations have only touched on a small portion (421) of the 30,000 suspected ghost projects, of which 14 have been confirmed as truly nonexistent. The problem, as the hearing unfolded, is a combination of sheer volume—the universe of all flood control projects, including investigating which ones are ghost projects—and lack of technology, such as former Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) Secretary Manuel Bonoan’s explanation as to why there seem to be two ways to locate specific projects. There are still many dots to connect and testimonies to collect.

This suggests that President Marcos obviously got good advice as far as the Palace’s consistent push to set the political tempo of events—from the time he blew the whistle on legislators, contractors, and bureaucrats, to former Sen. Ramon “Bong” Revilla surrendering Monday night (after the blue ribbon committee hearing, additional arrests were made: former DPWH engineers Brice Hernandez and Jaypee Mendoza, coindicted with Revilla). This includes the creation of the Independent Commission for Infrastructure (ICI).

In a sense, you could argue the powerless ICI’s purpose was both clerical (to put together dossiers the Ombudsman could chew on) as it was political, as former Senate President Franklin Drilon mentioned to Karen Davila: by the time credible members like former DPWH Secretary Rogelio “Babes” Singson resigned, it had already served its purpose, which was to give an appearance of action on the part of the administration.

Killing time in this manner was needed because if the Ombudsman is going to be effective, he’d first have to do some serious housekeeping.

Recall that back in October 2025, newly minted Ombudsman Jesus Crispin Remulla engaged in a reshuffle in his office, particularly aimed at 99 senior officials (“midnight appointments” whom he instructed to resign) and 204 new employees (hired in the waning months of his predecessor’s term, who were told to reapply). He also instructed that Pharmally-related cases be redrawn, reevaluated, and refiled, obviously because he considered them defective, weak, or both.

This ushered in a fundamental difference in the way Remulla’s office would henceforth approach cases. In filing cases, the Ombudsman now insists on a reasonable certainty of conviction (based on the evidence in hand, availability of witnesses, and continued interest of private complainants) instead of probable cause, as the standard to be followed in the filing of cases. This raises the bar; former Opinion colleague Raphael Pangalangan quotes jurisprudence in defining probable cause as “such facts and circumstances as would excite the belief in a reasonable mind that a crime has been committed and the respondent is probably guilty of the crime.”

By the start of this year, it had become conventional wisdom that the Ombudsman, who used to be considered the tough, uncouth face of traditional provincial politics, somehow had a change of heart because of a near-death experience: a “come to Jesus moment.” Which is “a powerful realization, epiphany, or intervention that forces a major, often difficult, change in behavior, understanding, or direction, moving someone from a problematic state (like sin, poor habits, or bad choices) toward a better path, even if it’s secular.” So now, it’s widely assumed, the Ombudsman is using the talents he once used pragmatically for the idealistic purpose of actually doing his job, in contrast to quite a few, if not most, of his predecessors.

But how can a rational analysis of politics and the law factor in such a thing? I once heard a very sad, pathetic story of how former President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo was left speechless when ex-Speaker Jose de Venecia Jr., who’d suffered the horrifying tragedy of losing his daughter to a fire, tried to convince her that a medium’s automatic writing was transmitting messages and political advice from his deceased daughter. These are the realities of life in our tropical baroque society that neither reason nor the usual political considerations can properly factor in.

Still, old habits die hard; Remulla the crusader is still Remulla the formerly glib politician; and it’s the simplest explanation for the Ombudsman’s continuing bad habit of promising a lot and delivering a little—in contrast to the ideal, which is to underpromise and overdeliver. Was he, instead, telegraphing his punches? But in our society, flight is tantamount to an admission of guilt; the disappearance of Charlie “Atong” Ang and the escape of former Ako Bicol party list Rep. Elizaldy “Zaldy” Co are clear cases in point—they have been convicted before the court of public opinion.

The lag, then, between the announcement of arrests to come and the actual arrests, practically a month, indicates the difference between political time and legal time. That is, the lag between our institutions only starting to deliver on what the public has demanded—and expected—weeks and weeks ago. Better to miss a deadline rather than risk not giving a deadline in the first place and appearing to lack a sense of urgency, I suppose.