The Garbage of Madmen

 

                                               (image: youtube.com)

Sila an malipa!

“Garbage.” This was the chilling term the bagman used to describe the millions of people’s money stuffed into luggage: funds intended for public welfare but instead funneled into the pockets of greedy politicians who shamelessly demanded their cuts from government projects, as though the nation’s coffers were their personal property.

Marc Jayson Cayabyab of The Philippine Star reported that a Senate Blue Ribbon hearing saw former Marine Master Sergeant Orly Regala Guteza testify he had delivered 46 Rimowa suitcases, each containing ₱48 million, to the residences of Ako Bicol Rep. Zaldy Co and then House Speaker Martin Romualdez. Introduced by Sen. Rodante Marcoleta, who at times seemed to guide him through his affidavit, Guteza described the cash as “basura,” or contraband, alleging it came from illegal kickbacks in flood control projects.

The Rimowa suitcase, a symbol of luxury and affluence, became the unlikely vessel for illicit millions. Its polished image stood in stark contrast to the contents it carried, cash dismissed as “garbage.” This jarring juxtaposition exposes the moral bankruptcy of corruption, where public wealth is both flaunted through luxury and demeaned as worthless contraband.

From here, the contrast becomes even more painful: the haunting images of the poor, submerged in floodwaters, some losing their lives to the calamity itself, others to the diseases it inevitably brings. And yet, to greedy politicians and complicit government workers, such suffering seems to mean nothing. Do they see these people too as mere “garbage,” collateral damage in the service of their insatiable greed?

Psychology offers a disturbing lens for such behavior. Psychopathy is recognized as a personality disorder marked by a lack of empathy, remorse, and concern for the suffering of others (Hare, 1999). In the context of systemic corruption, where greed overpowers moral responsibility and the well-being of others is disregarded, one cannot help but ask: what form of collective insanity does such behavior reveal?

Bandura’s (1999) theory of moral disengagement provides one answer, explaining how individuals rationalize unethical conduct by minimizing harm, displacing responsibility, or dehumanizing victims. When such mechanisms are normalized within institutions, corruption becomes embedded in organizational culture, numbing moral sensibilities on a societal scale.

Similarly, Sykes and Matza’s (1957) techniques of neutralization shed light on how perpetrators of corruption justify their actions: through denial of injury (“everyone does it”), denial of victim (“the government has plenty of money”), or appeal to higher loyalties (“I must serve my political allies”). These rationalizations allow systemic greed to thrive while silencing guilt.

Taken together, these perspectives suggest that the “collective insanity” of corruption is not necessarily a psychiatric disorder but rather a social pathology, an entrenched moral dysfunction that operates through shared rationalizations, structural impunity, and the normalization of greed. It demonstrates how systemic corruption corrodes not only governance but also the ethical foundations of society.

Thus, when those in authority begin to see others as mere “garbage,” their moral decay deepens into a kind of collective insanity, where humanity is stripped away, and greed becomes the only logic that governs their actions.

Systemic corruption, then, reflects a kind of collective derangement: a pathological fixation on greed that legitimizes harm to others as collateral. This normalization of harm, carried out in the name of power and wealth, makes corruption resemble a society-wide form of madness.

Look closely at the actions of some of our leaders: they vehemently deny their own greed, shift blame onto scapegoats, and strip themselves of any sense of guilt. In doing so, they exhibit a dangerous form of insanity, one that not only corrodes the moral fabric of society but also carries within it the seeds of their own eventual destruction.

In the end, it is they who embody the real garbage: the corrupt and the greedy, not the people whose lives they exploit and demean.

Of Greed, Insanity and Upheaval

 

                                                   (image: youtube.com/ one news ph)

Maniid lamang ta.

What becomes of an organization when its leader struggles with mental challenges? If psychological issues remain unaddressed, how might they cascade downward, influencing the very people under their management? Such a scenario poses a profound difficulty—one that can disrupt not only team dynamics but also the overall performance and well-being of the organization.

In the same way, what becomes of a nation when its leaders are consumed by a sickness of the mind—where greed corrodes their values and integrity? Even when their corruption is laid bare, they persist, striving to normalize greed as though it were an acceptable standard. Such moral decay not only undermines governance but also erodes the ethical foundations upon which a country’s future depends.

This concern is not merely theoretical. Cristina Chi of The Philippine Star reported that thousands are expected to gather on Sunday, September 21, at Luneta and the EDSA People Power Monument for rallies denouncing corruption in flood-control projects. These demonstrations coincide with the 53rd anniversary of Ferdinand Marcos Sr.’s 1972 declaration of martial law, a date long remembered by activists as a time of dictatorship abuses and resistance against authoritarian rule. Organizers of the “Baha Sa Luneta” protest — composed of students and groups such as the Campaign Against the Return of the Marcoses and Martial Law — emphasize that their call is not only to condemn present-day corruption but also to prevent the repetition of past deceptions, abuses, and plunder.

To a discerning observer, such developments may evoke parallels with Nepal, where members of Generation Z, disillusioned by systemic corruption, resorted to violence and stripped public officials of their dignity. The unchecked greed of leaders appeared to seep into the consciousness of the youth, who, overwhelmed by a government they could no longer endure, erupted in fury and chaos.

This raises a critical question: Why do leaders succumb to excessive greed? Is it the intoxication of power, the erosion of moral restraint, or the false belief that wealth and influence can shield them from accountability? Whatever the cause, unchecked avarice not only corrodes their integrity but also imperils the very society they are sworn to serve.

Research supports this concern. When accountability mechanisms are fragile, leaders are more likely to rationalize self-serving behaviors at the expense of public welfare (Kipnis, 2013). Moreover, systemic corruption perpetuates greed by normalizing unethical conduct, creating a cycle difficult to break (Transparency International, 2023). As Collier (2017) argues, unchecked greed in governance erodes public trust and undermines democratic institutions, paving the way for political instability.

The youth, in particular, often respond when they perceive that the social contract has been broken—when corruption, greed, or abuse of power makes the future appear bleak and unlivable. History demonstrates that younger generations, driven by justice and idealism, are quick to challenge oppressive systems once they conclude that institutions no longer serve the public good (Inglehart & Welzel, 2005). Their dissent emerges not merely from anger, but also from frustration at being silenced and from the urgency to reclaim a future stolen by systemic failures (Feixa et al., 2019). In this sense, youthful revolt becomes both a cry of protest and an act of hope.

Against this backdrop, the Philippine situation cannot be taken lightly. Amid corruption controversies, where public officials are increasingly scrutinized for exploiting resources at the expense of citizens, the possibility of mass outrage cannot be discounted. Comparable incidents have already unfolded in Nepal, where Finance Minister Bishnu Prasad Paudel was forcibly stripped and driven into a river by protesters during youth-led demonstrations against government misconduct (Gulf News, 2025).

Such episodes illustrate how deep frustration with systemic corruption can escalate into acts of public humiliation and unrest, underscoring the urgency of addressing governance failures before they ignite social upheaval.

The president, whose father was once toppled by a People Power uprising, must therefore reflect more deeply. History has a way of repeating itself when its lessons are ignored, and when leaders allow greed and corruption to poison the foundations of governance, the people will inevitably reclaim their voice.

Like Hitler

 

                                                 (image: youtube.com)

Mabuang tungod sa kahakog.

The Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines (CBCP) issued a pastoral letter that was read in churches during the celebration of the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross. The message directly confronted the pervasive corruption in flood-control projects, framing it not only as a political and economic scandal but also as a profound moral crisis.

Among the bishops’ urgent appeals was the need to guide the youth toward integrity and ethical discernment, reminding the faithful that the moral compass must be nurtured early. The letter even referenced the well-known book All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten by Robert Fulghum, underscoring a timeless lesson: Do not take what is not yours.

Yet how can this lesson take root when many adults themselves are preoccupied with amassing wealth, not merely to flaunt it, but to compensate for unmet childhood needs? Research in developmental psychology suggests that early deprivation or unfulfilled emotional experiences can manifest in adulthood as compulsive accumulation of material possessions, often mistaken for success or self-worth (Kasser, 2016). This dynamic reinforces a culture where unethical practices, including corruption, become normalized, as adults rationalize their actions as pursuits of security or validation (Deci & Ryan, 2017). When the older generation models such distorted values, the moral formation of the young is inevitably compromised, making education in integrity and responsibility even more urgent.

But beyond the wounds of deprivation, how do we explain the persistence of corruption among leaders who were born into privilege and abundance? Is it sheer greed, an insatiable hunger for power, or the intoxication of dominance that no amount of wealth can satisfy? Left unchecked, these impulses and unprocessed appetites for control can spiral into a form of madness: akin to what ultimately consumed Hitler.

Unresolved childhood needs, when carried into adulthood without proper integration, can give rise to maladaptive behaviors that border on irrationality. From a psychodynamic perspective, Freud (1920) argued that repressed frustrations often resurface through destructive drives, distorting an individual’s relationship with reality. Similarly, Adler’s theory of inferiority and compensation suggests that unaddressed feelings of inadequacy may propel individuals toward excessive displays of dominance and control, sometimes escalating into pathological expressions of power (Adler, 1956). When such needs remain unprocessed, they may manifest as compulsive greed or authoritarian tendencies, paralleling the psychological descent into instability, or even insanity.

What is needed, therefore, is for adults to cultivate deeper self-awareness and a sense of alignment with the greater good. Without such grounding, destructive behaviors may appear as mere indulgence, when in truth they reveal an unrecognized struggle within.

The bishops’ call to awaken the younger generation to the evils of corruption may otherwise prove ineffective if societal patterns remain unchanged. Their plea resounds with urgency: unless adults themselves embody integrity, any effort to teach the youth will falter.

As Robert Fulghum reminded us in All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, the most enduring moral lesson is strikingly simple: do not take what is not yours. The future of the next generation may well depend on whether we finally live by that truth.

The Trouble With Hunger

 

                                               (image: youtube.com/NET25)

Nagpasundayag nan kahamugaway.

Late in 2024, the Discaya couple, Curlee and Sarah Discaya, were featured in interviews with veteran broadcast journalists Julius Babao and Korina Sanchez, where they recounted their rise from modest beginnings to substantial wealth, notably showcased through their extensive fleet of luxury vehicles. What became especially viral, however, was Sarah’s candid admission that she purchased a Rolls-Royce Cullinan simply “because of the umbrella” that came with it, an oddly meticulous justification that quickly captured public attention.

Not long after, Sarah Discaya was summoned by the Senate to face an investigation into alleged ghost flood-control projects involving their family’s construction firms. Public scrutiny intensified after the couple openly flaunted their luxury cars, fueling suspicions that their lavish lifestyle may have been financed through the excessive use, and possible misuse, of taxpayers’ money.

Throughout the proceedings, Sarah remained composed despite a barrage of questions from senators. Her poise, however, prompted some observers to wonder: was this yet another extension of her hunger for publicity? For critics, granting exclusive interviews to two of the country’s most prominent journalists appeared to be a calculated act of self-promotion, especially given her previous attempt to run for political office in Pasig.

Others interpreted it differently, suggesting that such displays could be a way of compensating for unmet needs, given the couple’s humble origins.

The behavior displayed by Sarah Discaya can also be examined through the lens of psychology, particularly the human need for self-promotion as a form of identity construction and social validation. Sedikides, Gregg, and Hart (2007) argue that individuals often engage in self-enhancement and self-promotion not merely to impress others, but to manage insecurities and compensate for perceived deficiencies rooted in earlier life experiences.

Adding to the controversy, Ferdinand Patinio of the Philippine News Agency reported that the Bureau of Customs (BOC) has taken custody of 28 luxury vehicles linked to the Discaya family. According to the BOC, the family voluntarily surrendered 16 high-end cars, while another 12 were secured on September 3, 2025, through a court-ordered search at the Pasig City compound of St. Gerrard Construction General Contractor & Development Corp., a firm owned by the Discayas.

Public outrage deepened when, as reported by Mark Ernest Villeza of The Philippine Star on September 4, activists from various groups stormed the gates of St. Gerrard Construction in Pasig City. Denouncing what they described as corrupt contractors and politicians behind anomalous flood-control projects, the protesters hurled mud at the company gate and spray-painted words such as “magnanakaw,” “kurakot,” and “ikulong” across the walls and fences.

Considering these developments, one is compelled to reflect on whether the relentless pursuit of affirmation and self-promotion ultimately comes at a psychological cost. As Kim and Ko (2022) suggest, conspicuous displays often reveal not genuine success but the insecurities they are meant to conceal. When wealth becomes a spectacle and publicity is mistaken for legitimacy, what emerges is not admiration but a cycle of excess that fosters suspicion and erodes public trust.

In the end, the Discaya story is not merely about luxury cars or extravagant lifestyles: it is a stark reminder of how the thirst for affirmation can blind individuals to accountability. What begins as a display of success can swiftly devolve into a spectacle of excess, leaving behind not respect, but lingering questions of integrity.

Or this narrative unveils how self-promotion, when consumed by excess, inevitably collapses into greed: a relentless hunger that devours self-respect, corrodes accountability, and leaves only the hollow echoes of mistrust in its wake.