Senators, let’s not mince words. What unfolded at the Blue Ribbon hearing wasn’t truth-seeking—it was theater. The Discayas walked in, armed with rehearsed lines and recycled talking points, and expected the nation to swallow them whole. They claimed, with straight faces, that they’ve “been in business for 23 years, so kumita naman kami.” If that doesn’t insult the intelligence of every taxpayer in this country, I don’t know what does.
Let’s be clear: their corporate empire is barely a decade old. Alpha & Omega? 2014. St. Timothy? 2014. St. Gerrard? 2015—after the older entity had already been suspended. Way Maker OPC? Only possible after 2019, because OPCs didn’t exist before then. That’s not “23 years.” That’s a high schooler with a fake ID pretending to be old enough to buy beer. Yet here we are, with senators politely listening instead of calling it what it is: a myth.
If you, Senators, allow that claim to stand unchallenged, then you are complicit in turning the Blue Ribbon into a comedy stage. Because the truth is documented, undeniable, and sitting in plain sight: their construction firms are barely a decade old. Alpha & Omega General Contractor & Development Corporation was incorporated in 2014. St. Timothy Construction Corporation? Also 2014. St. Gerrard Construction General Contractor & Development Corporation? Registered in 2015, after the older St. Gerrard had already been suspended for failing to deliver. Way Maker OPC? Only possible after 2019 because one-person corporations didn’t even exist in Philippine law until then. That’s 10 or 11 years, not 23.
So where exactly did the Discayas pull this “23 years” fairy tale from? Out of thin air. Out of desperation. Out of the belief that the Senate and the public will swallow anything as long as it’s delivered with confidence. Senators, are you willing to let yourselves be treated like fools in your own chamber?
Let’s dissect their second big fairy tale: the so-called billions in profits. The Discaya-linked network cornered around ₱31 billion in flood-control contracts between 2022 and 2025. But that is contract value, not net income. Even high school students in Accounting 101 know the difference. Yet the Discayas would have us believe that contract amounts flow straight into their pockets as profit.
Reality check: construction is a low-margin industry. Megawide, one of the country’s largest and most established contractors, reported about ₱19 billion in revenue in 2023 but netted only ₱283 million in profit—a wafer-thin 1.5 percent margin. EEI, another industry stalwart, posted losses despite billions in contracts. To earn just ₱1 billion in profit at industry margins, you’d need anywhere between ₱20 billion to ₱66 billion in revenue. And yet the Discayas expect us to believe that their relatively young companies, with zero track record of massive private-sector projects, suddenly leapfrogged industry titans in profitability? Senators, it’s a fairy tale dressed up as a defense.
Then there’s their record of misconduct. St. Gerrard was blacklisted in 2015. Then blacklisted again in 2020. That’s not bad luck—that’s a pattern. And still, somehow, these same entities or their reincarnations kept bagging massive government contracts. Someone inside the system enabled this. Someone allowed blacklisted names to keep resurfacing under new corporate shells. That is the real scandal here: not just the Discayas’ audacity, but the government’s complicity.
And let’s not ignore the luxury car fleet—the most visible red flag of all. Customs has already flagged dozens of high-end vehicles owned by the family, matched with a lifestyle of palatial houses, designer goods, and social-media flaunting. Senators, does that look like the result of industry-standard margins? Or does it look like unexplained wealth fueled by taxpayer money?
The Filipino people aren’t buying the Discayas’ story. Protesters have already gathered outside their Pasig office. Netizens are outraged. Ordinary taxpayers, who slog through floods every monsoon season despite billions supposedly spent on “flood-control,” are furious. While people wade waist-deep in brown water, the Discayas are parading luxury cars. That is not just corruption—it is mockery.
So enough with the theater. The Senate must stop indulging fairy tales and start demanding receipts. Here’s what you should do, Senators:
- Subpoena their audited financial statements and BIR tax returns. No more hiding behind vague claims.
- Force the SEC to release capital disclosures and beneficial ownership structures of all Discaya-linked firms.
- Demand DPWH present every completion report and CPES rating tied to their projects.
- Push Customs and the BIR to accelerate lifestyle checks, and if assets are grossly disproportionate to declared income, initiate forfeiture.
- And most importantly, stop hinting at consequences—recommend plunder and graft charges if the evidence points there. Because at ₱31 billion in questionable contracts, we’re not talking petty corruption anymore. We’re talking plunder territory.
Senators, the burden of proof no longer rests on the public. The evidence is stacked high: young companies claiming decades of experience, blacklists ignored, billions in contracts with no transparent records, and a lifestyle that cannot be explained by industry math. The Discayas’ defense isn’t just weak—it’s insulting.
If you allow their narratives to stand, if you let them keep spinning slogans instead of producing receipts, then the Blue Ribbon Committee will have failed in its duty. Worse, you will have sent a message to every shady contractor in this country: that the Senate is not a watchdog, but a stage for their propaganda.
The floods that drown our streets every year are bad enough. But the bigger flood—the flood of half-truths, of shamelessness, of corruption—will drown this democracy if you don’t stop it. Senators, it’s time to drain this swamp. Call out the Discayas’ fairy tales for what they are: myths. Demand accountability. Recommend indictments.
Because if you don’t, you won’t just be failing to stop corruption—you’ll be complicit in it.
