The SunStar report cites the latest flashpoint: health workers accusing Department of Health Secretary Teodoro Herbosa and Undersecretary Albert Domingo of misusing public funds by upgrading to “luxury” airfare on an official trip to Geneva. The charge is blunt and symbolic. The alleged decision to upgrade travel expenses is presented as both a breach of technical and moral austerity directives and a call for belt-tightening.
However, discussing a business-class ticket overlooks the main question: Why are Herbosa and Domingo still there?
The Geneva travel row is the latest in a growing list of accusations. Herbosa has received multiple complaints over the past year, and Domingo has as well in some cases. The group cited, among other allegations, the use of wasted or undelivered medicines worth over ₱1.4 billion, with life-saving drugs allegedly expiring in storage rather than being delivered to patients.
Complaints have been raised about ₱1.8 billion in procurement irregularities, including bid rigging and manipulation of project specifications. There’s also the controversial ₱98 million radio program, in which officials were accused of using public funds to create and host a platform that blurred the line between public service and personal exposure. The radio program was another issue involving both Herbosa and Domingo.
There were previous protests over the release of ₱44.6 million worth of psychiatric drugs, distributed under questionable circumstances, and the release of ₱1.29 billion in unliquidated funds.
When does repetition stop being a coincidence?
Each case, standing alone, is an allegation awaiting proof. That is the language of due process, and it is to be respected. But taken together, they reveal a pattern of repeated concerns about procurement, resource management, and the stewardship of public funds.
And here the problem becomes sharper.
Governance isn’t just about whether allegations are proven in court. It’s also about whether leaders are protecting credibility now. But when charges recur across programs, funding mechanisms, and administrative decisions, the question shifts from legal guilt to public trust.
The Ombudsman does not decide the question of trust. It is decided by people who see it, compare it, and remember it.
Malacañang has been consistent in its position: no action without evidence, no intervention without the Ombudsman’s resolution. In a sense, the stance is defensible. Due process shields officials from politically motivated accusations and protects the governance process from trial by publicity.
However, there is a downside.
When due process becomes the default excuse for inaction, it risks serving as a shield not only for fairness but also for political expediency. A president can always say, ‘Let’s wait for the investigation. Wait for the sentence. Wait for the evidence.’
Meanwhile, the same officials maintain budgets and policy and remain in power. The system continues. Questions go unanswered. Every time an embattled official is kept on, it sends a message. That message is difficult to ignore at this time.
It tells the public that a collection of allegations isn’t enough to trigger accountability. It implies that credibility can be publicly lost without immediate consequences. It confirms the sense that power, once gained, is curiously resilient. And perhaps most dangerously, it normalizes discord. When a nation’s routine becomes alarming, it signals a deeper issue.
These controversies are not theoretical debates about governance. You can feel their impact. When medicines worth billions of dollars expire, patients go untreated. Procurement is strained, and health facilities underperform or even collapse. Misuse of public funds undermines frontline workers’ confidence in the system they serve. The SunStar report most vividly captured this frustration: health workers spoke of “the silent millions who suffer in our hospitals every day.” That statement is worse than any audit. So why does Herbosa stay? Why is Domingo still here?
The answer likely lies at the intersection of politics, bureaucracy, and institutional inertia. Firing a cabinet-level official is not merely an administrative matter. It’s political. It’s an admission of failure, disrupts internal alignments, and invites scrutiny that may extend beyond a single office. On the other hand, keeping them ensures stability, at least on the surface. Stability without trust is inherently fragile and will eventually break.
There is a fallacy that accountability begins only after guilt is proven beyond a reasonable doubt. But it doesn’t. In public service, accountability begins when confidence is compromised. Stepping aside while an investigation proceeds is not an admission of guilt. It is an acknowledgment that public office requires a higher standard, where perception, credibility, and trust are as important as legal outcomes. Preventive suspension, independent audit, and full transparency are not penalties. They are insurance for institutions that have no time for long droughts.
It’s not a matter of whether investigations should proceed. They have to. The real question is whether, in the face of those investigations, leadership can act before they conclude, not on final verdicts but on the cumulative weight of doubt and questionable integrity. If, however, repeated allegations of misuse of public funds, procurement irregularities, and systemic inefficiencies do not prompt decisive action by leadership, the problem is no longer just about Herbosa or Domingo.
It’s a matter of standards. Standards, rather than policies, primarily determine the integrity of a government.
