PROS AND CONS OF PARLIAMENTARY SYSTEMS

 PROS AND CONS OF PARLIAMENTARY SYSTEMS

I am aware that this is going to be a long conversation but let us just start it now. We have heard so much advocacy for a federal system, but why is there no equivalent advocacy for a parliamentary system? Is it not that in many countries, federal systems and parliamentary systems often go together?

To be clear, I am in favor of a federal system, where all the member states govern themselves for the most part, except for a few centralized functions like defense, finance, and foreign affairs. This way, regions can truly develop according to their own strengths. At the same time, I am also in favor of a parliamentary system, where members of parliament are elected from parliamentary districts within each member state, and from among them a Prime Minister is chosen. The Prime Minister, in turn, forms a Cabinet that will essentially become his government.

Now, here lies the most contentious part. In a parliamentary system, the Prime Minister is not directly elected by the people. Unlike our presidential system, where we cast our votes for the head of state and government, parliamentary voters only elect their district representatives. The leader of the majority party in parliament then becomes Prime Minister. In the United Kingdom, for example, citizens vote for their Members of Parliament (MPs), and whichever party secures the most seats forms the government. The Monarch formally appoints the Prime Minister, but this is only ceremonial.

So, here’s the big question: would we, as Filipinos, be willing to give up our right to directly vote for a President, in exchange for a system that would make it easier to replace a bad Prime Minister?

That is one major advantage of the parliamentary system. A bad Prime Minister can be replaced quickly through a vote of no confidence. In contrast, a bad President is very difficult to remove—short of impeachment, resignation, or worse, people power. In other words, parliamentary governments are inherently more flexible.

Of course, this is not as simple as it sounds. The Cabinet in a parliamentary system is composed of MPs themselves, and while they cannot directly vote out a Prime Minister, their collective dissent—through mass resignations or party mechanisms—can force a leadership change. Think of what happened to Margaret Thatcher and more recently Boris Johnson. Compare that to our system, where Cabinet secretaries are not elected and are merely appointees, beholden to the President no matter how unpopular or incompetent he becomes.

But perhaps there is no right or wrong here, because both systems work in many countries. The real question is: can we, in the Philippines, sustain at least two strong parties that could compete for parliamentary leadership? That is where the challenge lies. Without strong parties, a parliamentary system could easily descend into chaos, with fragile coalitions and constant leadership changes.

Our current multi-party system is too personality-driven and transactional. What we call “political parties” are more like electoral vehicles for presidential candidates, easily abandoned after elections. Unless we reform our political party system—through stricter rules on party-switching, public funding, and ideology-based platforms—a parliamentary system might not work as intended.

Still, the debate is worth having. Federalism could empower our regions, but parliamentary government could make our politics more accountable and responsive. Why are we not pushing for both at the same time? After all, many federal systems—like Canada, Australia, and India—are also parliamentary. Why do we always imagine these reforms in isolation?

Perhaps we are afraid of letting go of the notion that we must personally vote for a President. But should democracy be defined only by how we vote for our leaders, or also by how easily we can remove bad ones?

It may be a long conversation, but one thing is sure: our current system is not delivering the kind of governance we need. Whether we choose federalism, parliamentarism, or both, the goal must be the same—making government closer to the people, more accountable, and easier to change when it fails.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

11-28-2025 

MODERNIZING THE MMDA

MODERNIZING THE MMDA

What really is the role or mandate of the MMDA? Many of us assume that it is a policy-making body, because we see its Chairman constantly issuing statements, directives, or pronouncements that affect the daily lives of Metro Manila residents. But the truth is, the MMDA is not supposed to be a policy-making agency at all. The actual policy-making body is the Metro Manila Council (MMC).

This is where the confusion begins. The MMDA, under Republic Act 7924, was created as a development authority to implement programs for Metro Manila—traffic management, flood control, solid waste, urban renewal, disaster response, and so on. But technically, the MMDA is supposed to be just an executive or implementing agency, acting under the authority of the Metro Manila Council. In corporate terms, the MMC is the “Board of Directors” of the MMDA. The MMC is also supposed to function as the de facto Regional Development Council (RDC) for the metropolis.

If that is so, then why is the MMDA acting as if it were an authority on its own? Why does it have a Chairman, with Cabinet-level rank, who sometimes looks more powerful than the 17 mayors combined? If the MMC already has a Chairman—usually one of the mayors elected among themselves—why do we still need another Chairman for the MMDA? To me, this looks like a leftover from the martial law years, when central authority had to be asserted above local governments. That might have made sense then, but should it still be the case today?

I think not. What MMDA really needs is not another Chairman, but a General Manager who reports to the MMC Chairman. The Council should be doing the planning, while the MMDA should be doing the executing. That way, the mayors—the real elected leaders of their constituencies—would collectively set the direction, and the MMDA would serve as the professional implementing arm.

To be fair, the MMC is not a token body. It is composed of the 17 Metro Manila mayors as voting members, with representatives from national agencies like DPWH, DOH, and DepEd as non-voting members. The MMC approves metro-wide plans and regulations, coordinates development across LGUs, and provides oversight on MMDA programs and budgets. But here’s the catch: since the MMDA has its own Chairman with Cabinet rank, the balance of power often tilts toward the MMDA itself, reducing the MMC to a consultative role rather than the governing body it was meant to be.

This imbalance explains why Metro Manila often looks more like a patchwork of competing jurisdictions than a coordinated metropolis. Traffic rules differ from one city to another. Flood control is carried out in fragments—some dredging here, some drainage unclogging there—with no unified master plan. Solid waste management is uneven, with some LGUs doing well in segregation and recycling, and others lagging far behind. Shouldn’t these functions be integrated at the metro-wide level, under the clear planning authority of the MMC and the executing mandate of the MMDA?

The irony is that the law already provides for this arrangement. But practice has distorted it. The presence of an MMDA Chairman has allowed the implementing agency to sometimes overshadow its supposed policy-making council. In effect, it is as if the “secretariat” has become the “board,” while the “board” has been reduced to a rubber stamp. That is not the way governance is supposed to work.

If we are serious about modernizing the MMDA, the reform should begin with governance structure. Let the MMC truly function as the board of directors and as the regional development council. Let the MMDA become what it was meant to be: the professional, technical, and executive arm of the Council. No more confusion, no more duplication of chairmanships.

This structural reform will also clarify accountability. When floods happen, or when traffic grinds to a halt, people will know exactly who is responsible for planning (the MMC) and who is responsible for execution (the MMDA). Right now, accountability is blurred, and this blurring allows problems to persist year after year.

Modernizing the MMDA is not just about adding more traffic enforcers, building more pumping stations, or buying more garbage trucks. It is about fixing the very foundation of governance in Metro Manila. Planning and execution must be clearly divided. Authority must flow from the MMC as the governing body, down to the MMDA as the implementing arm.

Otherwise, we will continue to live under a system where the agency meant to implement is busy pretending to be the authority, while the council meant to govern is sidelined. And Metro Manila, the country’s most vital region, will continue to stumble along without the modern, coordinated management it so badly needs.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

11-27-2025 

HAVE WE FORGOTTEN TO RESTORE THE LAHAR AFFECTED AREAS?

 HAVE WE FORGOTTEN TO RESTORE THE LAHAR AFFECTED AREAS?

Should we not require affected LGUs to have their own rehabilitation plans? Are these plans not supposed to be interrelated with agricultural development plans? And are these not supposed to be coordinated with river dredging and flood control plans? These are basic questions that somehow remain unanswered, more than 30 years after the cataclysmic eruption of Mount Pinatubo buried vast portions of Pampanga, Tarlac, and Zambales in lahar.

I raise these questions because when we talk about lahar, most people think of it as a thing of the past—something that happened in 1991, now “finished.” But is it really finished? The reality is that lahar never completely goes away. It remains in the river systems, in the lowlands, and in the memories of communities who still live with the risk of sudden mudflows whenever typhoons bring heavy rains.

Which agency of government has jurisdiction over the rehabilitation of lahar areas? Is it the DENR, since lahar is technically “earth material”? Is it DPWH, since lahar flows block rivers and endanger bridges? Is it DA, since buried farmlands need to be revived? Or is it left to the LGUs, who have limited resources? Fragmented responsibility often leads to neglect.

And when does the responsibility of PHIVOLCS end over the lahar areas? Strictly speaking, their role is to monitor volcanic hazards and warn communities. Once the eruption is over and the volcano quiets down, PHIVOLCS has no direct mandate to restore the land. But what happens to the thousands of hectares of sterile, ash-covered soils after the warnings subside? Who takes ownership of that responsibility?

Other volcanoes remind us that lahar is not just Pinatubo’s story. Mayon continues to threaten surrounding towns with lahar flows after every major eruption. Kanlaon, as recently as this year, forced evacuations because of mudflows triggered by heavy rains. Bulusan and Banahaw have also left their marks. Yet, rehabilitation remains piecemeal, often reactive, and rarely integrated into long-term agricultural planning.

I cannot help but wonder—have we forgotten that lahar-affected areas can still be restored? We have the technology. Desert agriculture offers a model: drip irrigation, soil amendments using compost and biochar, hardy pioneer crops like vetiver and moringa, and community-based reforestation with mycorrhizal inoculation. Other countries have transformed deserts into productive farmland—why can’t we turn lahar wastelands into something useful again?

Instead, what has happened in many places is the commodification of lahar. Quarrying for sand and gravel has become the default “rehabilitation plan.” Yes, it helps clear clogged river channels, but beyond that, how much of the revenue really goes into ecological restoration or livelihood recovery? Too often, it ends with trucks hauling lahar to construction sites while communities remain trapped in flood-prone zones.

What is missing is a comprehensive, national framework for lahar rehabilitation—one that goes beyond quarrying and relocation. Imagine if every LGU in lahar zones were required to have a rehabilitation plan, tied directly to agricultural development, river dredging, and flood control. Imagine if DENR, DA, and DPWH worked with LGUs and communities to design circular solutions—like waste-to-soil programs, community-managed reforestation, and even artisan industries using lahar composites for bricks or tiles.

This is not an impossible dream. After all, Pinatubo lahar deposits eventually stabilized and are now being planted with trees, crops, and even turned into eco-tourism areas. But much of this happened organically, not because of a deliberate national rehabilitation strategy. We need to ask ourselves: do we really want to keep leaving the fate of these areas to chance?

Lahar-affected communities deserve more than just survival. They deserve an integrated vision—one that links food security, disaster resilience, and livelihood restoration. If we fail to provide this, we will continue to see lahar as nothing but a recurring hazard, instead of an opportunity for ecological renewal.

So, have we forgotten to restore the lahar-affected areas? Perhaps not entirely—but we have neglected them long enough. It is time to remember, and more importantly, it is time to act.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

11-26-2025 

HERE COMES SEA WATER RICE

HERE COMES SEA WATER RICE

I have always known that it existed somewhere, and now I thank God that I have finally found it. Nope, I am not talking about the Holy Grail. I am simply talking about “sea water rice”—or to put it another way, a variety of rice that grows in salt water.

For the longest time, not knowing what to call it or even what to look for, I have been referring to it as a “saline variety” of rice. It was a dream, a fantasy, or perhaps just wishful thinking. But now it is no longer just a dream—because China has been growing it in their own country, and what’s more, they are already helping other nations by teaching them how to grow it.

This rice is not a product of genetic engineering but of decades of careful breeding. By combining wild salt-resistant rice with high-yield varieties, Chinese scientists developed a crop that not only survives in saline-alkali soils but also produces harvests comparable to conventional rice. In test fields near the Yellow Sea, yields reached up to 6.5 tons per hectare, sometimes even more. Imagine that—rice thriving in land we once thought useless.

By 2030, researchers say, seawater rice could feed up to 200 million more people. That is not a small figure. Considering that over a billion hectares of land worldwide suffer from salinity, the potential is staggering. Coastal deltas in Bangladesh and Vietnam, farmlands in Egypt’s Nile Delta, even deserts in the Middle East—all could benefit. In fact, China has already successfully tested seawater rice in Dubai, yielding an incredible 7.5 tons per hectare.

So now comes my question: what should we, here in the Philippines, do with this information—especially given our current diplomatic tensions with China? Should we fold our arms, postpone any action, and wait for relations to simmer down? Or should we seize the moment and open discussions with China on a possible technology transfer agreement concerning seawater rice?

I know for a fact that there is already a framework for bilateral technology transfer between our two countries. Years ago, when I was still a Foreign Service Officer, I attended one such meeting in Beijing. Perhaps we could quietly restart such exchanges at a lower level—say between our Department of Agriculture (DA) and their Ministry of Agriculture—without making it a high-profile political affair. After all, political diplomacy and economic diplomacy can run on parallel tracks.

Why not instruct our embassy in Beijing to start working on this? After all, what do we have to lose? We are a rice-eating country perennially worried about shortages. If seawater rice can be grown here, even on a pilot basis, imagine the possibilities for our coastal barangays, our salinized farmlands, and even our climate adaptation programs.

And let me point out: this is not just about food security. It is also about resilience. With rising seas and saltwater intrusion threatening our fertile lands, the question is not if we will need a crop like seawater rice—it is when. The sooner we prepare, the better.

Of course, there are valid concerns. Should we depend on China for such a critical food technology? Should we not invest in our own agricultural research to develop a local version? Both are good questions. But for now, what matters is to recognize that the technology already exists—and the world is not waiting. Bangladesh, Vietnam, Egypt, and even the Middle East are already testing it. Why should we wait longer?

To me, this is a golden opportunity to put economic pragmatism above political differences. If there is one area where cooperation should transcend disputes, it is food security. We can quarrel over territory, but can we afford to quarrel over rice?

Here comes seawater rice. It is no longer fantasy. The only question left is whether we will act on it—or let it pass us by while the rest of the world reaps its harvest.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

11-25-2025 

REVISITING PROBLEMS IN OUR LAKES

REVISITING PROBLEMS IN OUR LAKES

Are there problems in our lakes that we do not notice? That is the first question we should ask ourselves, because too often, we only react when the crisis is already staring us in the face. When fish kills happen, when floods become unmanageable, when water sources dry up—then we suddenly scramble for answers. But should we always wait for our problems to hit the headlines before we act on them?

The Philippines is blessed with more than 59 natural lakes, not counting man-made reservoirs. These are not just water bodies—they are our lifeblood. Laguna de Bay alone sustains some 15 million people in Metro Manila and CALABARZON. Lake Lanao is not only the second-largest lake but also the cultural heart of the Maranao. Taal Lake is both an ecological treasure and a tourism magnet. Smaller lakes like Buhi, Mainit, Sebu, and Naujan are home to endemic species and migratory birds. In short, our lakes are food baskets, water sources, cultural sanctuaries, and natural flood buffers all rolled into one.

Yet, as we marked World Lake Day 2025, it was painful to admit that most of our lakes are in crisis. Laguna de Bay is choked with illegal fish cages and untreated sewage—did you know that 64% of Metro Manila’s wastewater is still discharged untreated? Taal Lake, despite its “protected” status, remains crowded with aquaculture pens. Lake Lanao suffers from watershed deforestation and declining endemic species. Naujan Lake, a Ramsar site, has lost nearly a third of its migratory birds in just two decades.

Where are these problems reported? Usually in academic studies, DENR or BFAR reports, or NGO field notes—but rarely do they reach the mainstream conversation unless there is a disaster. Our lakes are slowly dying in silence.

Which brings me to the next question: aside from BFAR, who else should be involved in protecting and preserving our lakes? The DENR, yes—but governance today is so fragmented. LLDA manages Laguna Lake, LGUs have jurisdiction through devolved powers, and various agencies step in for fisheries, irrigation, power, and tourism. The result? Overlaps, finger-pointing, and weak enforcement. Local politics doesn’t help either. Let’s be honest: in Laguna de Bay and Taal Lake, powerful families benefit from illegal cages, which explains why demolition drives fail repeatedly.

And what is the government doing to remove plastic pollution in our lakes? In truth, very little. Less than 20% of Metro Manila’s sewage is treated before entering Laguna de Bay. Imagine the plastics that come with that wastewater. What about invasive species? Do we have a serious program to eliminate janitor fish in Laguna Lake or knife fish in Taal? So far, it seems we are fighting these invasions with half-hearted campaigns.

Then there is the question of protecting native and endemic species. Lake Buhi’s sinarapan, the world’s smallest fish, is under pressure. Lake Lanao’s unique gobies are disappearing. Yet, I hardly hear of serious national programs to revive them. Where are the hatcheries, restocking initiatives, or watershed reforestation drives linked directly to lake conservation?

I believe what we need is a comprehensive lakes protection law—a National Lakes and Wetlands Protection and Restoration Act. Current laws—the Fisheries Code, the Clean Water Act, the NIPAS Act—are all scattered, and none provide a unified framework. Why not create a National Lakes Authority, or at least a strengthened Wetlands Bureau under DENR, with clear zoning powers, enforcement authority, and enough budget muscle? Why not earmark a Lake Conservation Fund from aquaculture fees, eco-tourism revenues, and environmental charges? Why not designate “lake wardens” with police powers to remove illegal structures?

The big question is whether we have the political will. Because at the heart of this issue is governance, and at the heart of governance is accountability. Our lakes are commons—no one owns them, but everyone depends on them. And when commons are abused, we all suffer.

We cannot continue treating our lakes as dumping grounds, fish pens, or reclamation sites. They are not just bodies of water—they are our water security, our food security, our cultural identity. If we lose them, we lose far more than fish or flood control; we lose part of who we are as a nation.

So let us revisit the problems in our lakes—not tomorrow, not when the next fish kill makes the news, but now. Because saving them is not just an environmental issue. It is a survival issue.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

11-24-2025 

PROMOTING MALIPUTO AS A HIGH VALUE FISH

 PROMOTING MALIPUTO AS A HIGH VALUE FISH

To put matters in the right perspective, the Giant Trevally is not endemic to the Philippines. It thrives in marine environments across the Indo-Pacific. But when Taal Volcano erupted in 1754 and sealed off Lake Taal from the sea, some of these trevallies were trapped in freshwater. Over time, they adapted, evolved, and became what we now call Maliputo.

The same thing happened with sardines, which evolved into the freshwater Tawilis. I am playing safe by calling Maliputo a “new variety,” but I have reason to believe that it could already be considered a new species. If only the government could validate this scientifically, we could make an official claim before the right international bodies.

And if we could do that, we could even declare Maliputo as our true national fish. Why not? Bangus, as beloved as it is, is not endemic to the Philippines—it is found across Asia. By contrast, Maliputo is ours and ours alone. It is a living legacy of the unique geological history of Taal Lake.

Because of this, I am calling on government agencies, particularly the Bureau of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources (BFAR), to pursue an internationally recognized Geographical Indication (GI) status for Maliputo. Imagine: only the Philippines could use the name Maliputo for this freshwater giant trevally, the way only France can use Champagne and only Mexico can use Tequila. That is not just a matter of pride—it is a matter of economics.

But for this to happen, we must protect the integrity of Maliputo. The export of its fingerlings must be banned to ensure exclusivity. At the same time, invasive species like tilapia must be gradually removed from Lake Taal. I say gradually, because I understand the livelihood of many families depends on tilapia farming.

Tilapia, after all, competes with Maliputo for food and even eats its eggs. If left unchecked, it will always threaten the survival of Maliputo. But we cannot simply wipe out tilapia cages overnight. That would be irresponsible. Instead, a transition program should be in place: the government could support farmers by providing them with Maliputo fingerlings, enabling them to shift production over time without losing their source of income.

Even if this transition takes years, it is worth pursuing. The same farmers who are now raising tilapia could become Maliputo farmers. And here is the good news: they could earn more. Maliputo sells at premium prices because of its rarity and reputation. While tilapia fills mass-market needs, Maliputo could anchor a high-value aquaculture industry, combining cultural pride with economic opportunity.

But here’s the crucial question: is Maliputo truly a freshwater fish? Technically, it is euryhaline—it can thrive in both fresh and brackish water. In Lake Taal, it migrates through the Pansipit River, living in freshwater before returning to spawn. That means its story is even more unique than we imagine.

Are there enough fingerlings to support large-scale farming? Not yet. But progress has been made. The National Fisheries Research and Development Institute (NFRDI) has already distributed thousands of fingerlings in Batangas, with survival rates reaching more than 80%. Breeding programs are ongoing, and though not yet at national scale, the foundation has been laid.

Is Maliputo a better alternative to tilapia? That depends on what we mean by “better.” Tilapia grows faster and costs less to feed, making it ideal for mass production. But Maliputo offers something tilapia never could: exclusivity, cultural prestige, and premium pricing. It is not a commodity fish—it is a heritage fish.

The comparison with bangus is equally telling. Bangus will remain central to Philippine aquaculture—it feeds millions and sustains entire industries. But bangus is not unique to us. Maliputo is. In fact, Maliputo might be the perfect candidate for what I have always advocated: data-driven, value-adding governance. With the right scientific validation, policy support, and transition programs, we can elevate Maliputo from a local delicacy to an international symbol of Filipino identity.

Ultimately, promoting Maliputo is not just about farming fish. It is about telling a story—a story of resilience, adaptation, and national pride. It is about using science, policy, and governance to protect what is ours and to turn it into a sustainable source of livelihood.

So, I ask: do we have the political will to make Maliputo our own Champagne, our own Tequila? Do we have the foresight to balance conservation with livelihood, tradition with innovation?

For me, the answer should be yes. Because Maliputo will not promote itself—it is up to us to act, before it disappears from both our lakes and our memory.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

11-23-2025 

THE DATA TRAILS OF FLOOD CONTROL PROJECTS

THE DATA TRAILS OF FLOOD CONTROL PROJECTS

No, it is not my job to go after corrupt politicians and their equally corrupt contractor cohorts. Other people can do that. My job is to write about possible technological solutions to social problems. My job is to look for new ideas that could be applied to good governance and public administration. It is not my style to jump into the noise of political discussions without adding value to the conversation. Yes, that is my job—to add value to any relevant conversation that could lead to something good for the country.

I also don’t want to be among those who are branded as “No Action Talk Only” (NATO). I thank the Lord that even though I am already retired, already a senior citizen, I still have a means of action—even if only by way of writing. In the past, I had a talk show, but even then, I could not be accused of “Talk Only,” because my topics were always about good governance and public administration.

Now, let me say this: all of us want to bring out the truth when it comes to social and political issues, but what could be a better way to bring out the truth than to bring out the data? Yes, there is nothing better than data-driven governance.

And here’s the bottom line—there is always a data trail if you want to investigate corruption in government projects, not only in flood control projects. The problem is that few people actually follow it.

The data trail starts with the Terms of Reference (TOR). This is not just some bureaucratic paper—it is the document that contains all the technical specifications of the project. The TOR must first be approved by the Head of the Procuring Entity (HOPE), upon the recommendation of a Technical Working Group (TWG). In the case of Government Owned and Controlled Corporations (GOCCs) and similar entities, the TOR must first be approved by the Board of Directors before it can even reach the HOPE.

As soon as the TOR is approved, an Invitation to Bid is published, listing the specifications found in the TOR. In short, if there are discrepancies in project delivery, the TOR is the ultimate basis for accountability.

If there are suspicions that a project is overpriced, then the project cost must be compared with the budget indicated in the TOR. If there are accusations of defective or substandard work, that too should be measured against the TOR. If the qualifications of the winning bidders are questioned, again—check the TOR.

In summary, if there is any real desire to investigate or prosecute contractors, all actions should be based on the TOR. Ultimately, the data trail could lead back to the HOPE, and in some cases, responsibility may also be shared with the Board of Directors.

But I would add a further step: in hindsight, all project costs should also be compared with prevailing construction industry costs. That way, we can test whether the figures in the TOR itself were inflated from the start. Fortunately, we already have reliable data sources for this.

The Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA) publishes Construction Statistics from Approved Building Permits, including average cost per square meter by type of building, with regional breakdowns. For example, in January 2025 the average cost was ₱11,039.52/sqm, which dropped by 13.4% the following month, then rebounded to ₱11,600/sqm by June. That means if a flood control project’s unit cost is way off from these benchmarks, that is a red flag.

Other useful sources are LGUs and DPWH regional offices, which keep their own data on building permits and cost indices. Even the private sector publishes construction market reports explaining fluctuations in material and labor costs. When compared with project budgets, these datasets could show whether overpricing or under-delivery is happening.

So, the framework is clear: if we truly want accountability in flood control projects, or any government infrastructure, then let’s stop relying on rumors and start following the data trails.

Yes, politicians will argue, contractors will deny, and agencies will shuffle papers. But data does not lie. And if we insist that governance be data-driven, then corruption has fewer places to hide.

For me, this is the way to “add value” to the noisy conversations about flood control, infrastructure, or any other government project. Instead of mere finger-pointing, let us demand data transparency, TOR accountability, and benchmarking against industry costs.

That way, even if I am already retired, already “just writing,” I know I am not guilty of “Talk Only.” I am pointing to a path forward—one where truth is not manufactured by politics but revealed by the data trails that are already there, waiting to be tracked.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

11-22-2025