By Jazie Rangga || Illustration by Jen Abasola

“And God looked upon the earth, and, behold, it was corrupt.”

These words, drawn from ancient scripture, echo in a modern Philippines where every storm exposes the rot. When the rains come, rivers overflow, roads transform into canals, and lives are once again paused because the State has failed to deliver what was promised. Yet, on glowing phone screens, another kind of flood surges forth — a flood of excess, of wealth so casually flaunted that it mocks the suffering outside.

This is not wealth born of innovation or industry. It is wealth siphoned from contracts signed in the people’s name, from taxes scraped off their paychecks, from flood control projects that failed to hold back the waters. And at the center of this scandal stands not only Claudine Co, with her surplus of paid happiness, but the dynasty that enables her indulgence: her father, former Ako Bicol Rep. Christopher Co and uncle, Albay Rep. Elizaldy “Zaldy” Co. Businessmen turned politicians, whose construction business entitled them to become one of the supercontractors for the Department of Public Works and Highway (DPWH).

These men are not strangers to the public purse. The public was promised safety from swollen rivers and submerged neighborhoods, yet what came instead were unfinished projects, recycled allocations, and suspiciously repeated bidding patterns. And while the waters continued to rise, what rose alongside them were images on social media — snapshots of luxury handbags, private jets, and shopping trips abroad, symbols of excess seemingly built on the very projects that failed the people. Claudine Co’s life of ease plays out in high-definition on TikTok and Instagram, a silent indictment of promises unkept.

The backlash was swift. Every image of a G-Wagon, every Instagram reel of a private flight became a mirror of the suffering of Filipinos left to swim through broken systems. The anger was not directed only at one woman but at what she symbolized: the unholy marriage of public money and private indulgence.

But the Ark of privilege has room for many. Sarah Dicaya, Gela Alonte, Jammy Cruz, Mark Allen Arevalo — companions, fellow influencers and other tasked contractors — appear in the same orbit, sharing in the spectacle of indulgence. Their images, too, become symbols of a deeper truth: while the poor are left clinging to rooftops during storms, the well-connected float together, insulated, immune.

This is not new. One cannot help but remember how the Marcoses, whose ill-gotten wealth is still being litigated decades after Martial Law, once threw lavish parties in Malacañang while Filipinos lined up for rice during an economic collapse. How Joseph Estrada built his mansions and stashed millions in bank accounts while claiming to be a “man of the masses.” How the Revillas became poster children of the pork barrel scam, with Janet Napoles orchestrating ghost projects while senators smiled for cameras. How Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo was linked to padded government deals while hospitals lacked basic medicine. The Dutertes, meanwhile, now face Senate scrutiny over confidential funds that vanished into bureaucratic shadows.

The cycle is so entrenched that it has numbed the public. Every scandal becomes “just another.” Every revelation is met with a shrug. This resignation is perhaps the most dangerous consequence of all. When betrayal becomes expected, accountability dies.

Claudine Co’s scandal is different only in its immediacy. Unlike offshore accounts and shadowy Senate hearings of past decades, her family’s excess is broadcast in real time, visible to millions. Every post, every story, every video becomes a mirror of Filipino suffering — taxes deducted from paychecks, excise duties on fuel, billions earmarked for flood prevention — all funneled into a lifestyle so alien it feels untouchable.

The anger is righteous. It is not envy nor the crab mentality critics invoke to dismiss public outrage. Ordinary people endure hardship and pay faithfully, yet those tasked with their protection treat public funds as inheritance. Every rainy season exposes betrayal: Marikina residents stacking furniture on second floors, Cavite residents waiting for makeshift boats, Albay farmers losing crops and homes. Billions poured into flood control remain invisible in their protective effect and still, the Co family’s fortune grows.

This pattern is unbroken. Every scandal — Estrada, Revilla, Arroyo, Marcos, Duterte, Co — reinforces the same lesson: public service is a performance, accountability optional, and the people’s trust expendable. Each scandal numbs the citizenry further, until resignation becomes the default. Yet the Claudine Co episode cuts differently because it is personal, immediate, and impossible to ignore. It exposes a fundamental imbalance: those who give everything are the ones left behind, while those born into privilege remain untouchable.

The legal defense that Claudine holds no office is irrelevant. Republic Act 6713, the Code of Conduct for Public Officials, extends moral and ethical expectations to family members, making her proximity to power complicit. To flaunt wealth derived directly or indirectly from government contracts is a violation of public trust, a slap in the face of every Filipino who funds those projects. Investigations, lifestyle checks, and televised hearings cannot erase the deeper truth: the system itself facilitates this betrayal.

The Filipino cannot afford complacency. This is about more than one influencer. It is about whether taxes serve protection or indulgence, whether infrastructure serves the people or dynastic wealth, whether leadership is an obligation or a birthright. Claudine Co’s life of luxury is a lens revealing the nation’s enduring failure: a government that prioritizes the comfort of the few over the survival of the many.

There is a quiet irony in the Bible; that when Noah built the Ark, it was to save the innocent from the flood that washes the world of sin. Today, in the Philippines, the floods still come but it is now the righteous that are left to sink.

Until accountability becomes real, until public projects serve the public, every jet that takes off and every luxury car that rolls out of a gated driveway will remain a reminder of betrayal. Each rainy season, as they let the waters rise again, the nation will only be reminded who truly bears the cost of privilege: the ordinary Filipino. Claudine Co is not just an influencer. She is the gleaming Ark of her dynasty — a vessel for privilege built on the people’s sacrifice. And until that vessel is dismantled, the floods will keep returning, and it will always be the ordinary Filipino who drowns.