Behold the National Electrification Administration, where accountability goes to die and conflicts of interest are given a warm embrace. At the helm is Administrator Antonio Mariano Almeda, who recently demonstrated that his job description apparently begins and ends with nodding politely.
The controversy? The general manager of an Isabela electric cooperative, Erni Baggao, is also the proud owner of a construction firm that just happens to have bagged billions in government flood-control projects. You’d think the NEA might find this arrangement a little, say, problematic. Instead, Almeda shrugged, polished his halo of helplessness, and declared there was “no basis” to act unless—wait for it—a court orders him to.
Translation: he knows, but he won’t move. He sees, but he won’t act. He is fully aware, but gloriously indifferent.
How very convenient.
Almeda’s “investigation” was a thing of beauty. He actually called Baggao to ask if he owned EGB Construction. Baggao said yes. He then asked if there were ghost projects. Baggao said no. And that was it—case closed, conscience cleared, business as usual. Imagine the efficiency if all government probes worked this way:
“Are you stealing from the government?”
“No.”
“Excellent, continue.”
“Are you enriching yourself at the public’s expense?”
“Perish the thought.”
“Splendid, keep going.”
Why waste time with auditors, compliance reports, or ethics? When denial equals acquittal, we can dismantle the entire bureaucracy and just hand out notarized statements of innocence. NEA has given us regulation by pinky promise.
But Almeda didn’t stop there. He even offered a defense for Baggao, as though he were his personal lawyer: Baggao used to be ISELCO II president, he’s been in business for 30 years, he owns specialized equipment the DPWH needs. In other words: “He’s powerful, he’s entrenched, and he’s indispensable. So please, don’t bother him.” That isn’t oversight—it’s cheerleading.
Picture it: a government regulator playing defense counsel, reciting credentials instead of demanding accountability. This is no longer the National Electrification Administration. This is the National Excuse Administration.
The conflict of interest is blinding. A man tasked with running an electric cooperative for the public good is also raking in billions from public contracts. One hand flicks the light switch for consumers, the other signs construction deals. If this isn’t an ethics problem, what is? But to Almeda, it’s all perfectly fine—because nobody’s been convicted yet.
This is the great bureaucratic trick of our time: hide behind the courts. Pretend your hands are tied until the glacial justice system delivers a final verdict. By then, the contracts are signed, the money is pocketed, and the watchdog has long since rolled over. Waiting for a conviction in the Philippines is like waiting for Halley’s Comet—it’ll come around eventually, but by then, nobody remembers what the fuss was about.
And here’s the cruel joke: Almeda had a chance to do something bold. He could have said that even the appearance of conflict is unacceptable. He could have shown the public that NEA takes integrity seriously. Instead, he played defense, took Baggao’s word as gospel, and handed us the regulatory equivalent of a shoulder shrug.
What we are left with is a regulator who doesn’t regulate, an administrator who doesn’t administer, and a cooperative general manager who moonlights as a construction tycoon. The electricity may keep flowing, but accountability has suffered a total blackout.
The NEA, under Almeda, has reduced itself to a rubber stamp on the forehead of whoever says “trust me.” And if this is the gold standard of public oversight, then we may as well turn off the lights, because the darkness of impunity has already won.