Photo credit: Zaldy Co

Ako Bicol Rep. Elizaldy Co has finally broken his silence, not in the Senate hearings, not before investigators, not even face-to-face with his colleagues in the House, but through a two-page letter from abroad.

Shortly after, he announced his resignation as member of the House of Representatives, while his party quickly closed ranks around him, calling for “due process.”

In that letter, he vowed to return to the Philippines but only after lamenting “prejudgment” by the House of Representatives, the Senate, the media, and even the public.

He complained that his medical treatment abroad was disrupted, and that “false, baseless, and politically charged” statements had stirred public hatred against him and his family.

It is a remarkable defense, but also a revealing one. Co presents himself as a victim.

He asks for sympathy, not accountability. He begs for understanding from Speaker Bojie Dy and his colleagues, but offers no real explanation to the Filipino people.

While his resignation may be framed as a sacrifice, in truth, it is damage control, a bid to preserve his party and protect himself from further scrutiny.

Worse, his allies are shamelessly trying to recast his resignation as an act of heroism. Co's fellow Ako Bicol Rep. Alfredo Garbin Jr. even declared that Co’s resignation was a “sacrifice.”

A sacrifice? Let us be clear: sacrifice is when ordinary Filipinos give up meals so their children can go to school.

Sacrifice is when workers endure floods and commute on broken roads just to earn a day’s pay.

Sacrifice is when families risk their lives in crumbling hospitals and schools because the funds for safety were siphoned off.

Co resigning to save his skin and shield his party from further shame is not sacrifice, it is self-preservation dressed up as nobility.

Saan ba talaga kayo kumukuha ng kapal ng mukha?

The problem with Co’s letter is not just what it says but what it refuses to address.

While he accuses others of “prejudgment,” witnesses have testified about suitcases of cash allegedly delivered to his home.

Contractors have detailed percentages shaved off public works budgets. Engineers have pointed to overpriced or ghost flood-control projects worth billions.

Yet Co dismisses all this as political intrigue, sidestepping the central question: Where did the money go?

We already know the next excuse: that these are “mere allegations,” unproven in court.

But when contractors, engineers, and insiders all tell the same story under oath, these are no longer whispers, they are warnings.

The floods, the broken roads, the unsafe schools are already proof enough that public funds were bled dry.

Ordinary Filipinos accused of petty crimes face jail without conviction. Why should a congressman accused of stealing billions be spared scrutiny until a final verdict?

This is the oldest playbook of the powerful. When cornered, they don’t explain, they deflect. They don’t confront, they complain.

Instead of answering the allegations head-on, Co argues over procedure, over clearances, over his “safety.”

He pleads for protection while the nation bleeds from the consequences of corruption.

Look around: the skies have been dark these past few days, rain falling heavy, our kababayan nervous with every flood warning.

On television, images of Co’s billion-peso air assets flash across the screen, planes and helicopters worth more than entire towns will ever see, while ordinary families brace for another night of rising waters.

What about the poor who never get due process when floods swallow their homes, when hospitals turn them away, when children sit in crumbling classrooms?

Because the real victims are not Zaldy Co and his family.

The real victims are millions of ordinary Filipinos whose lives have been put at risk because the money meant to protect them was allegedly stolen.

Families who drown every time it rains because flood-control projects existed only on paper.

Students and patients who enter schools and hospitals built with substandard materials, deathtraps waiting for the next strong earthquake.

Motorists wasting hours in traffic and risking accidents because substandard roads collapse long before their time.

Every peso pocketed is a classroom unfunded, a hospital bed missing, a floodwall unbuilt. That is the price of corruption.

Due process is his right, but due process begins with presence, not absence.

It means showing up before the Senate or ICI, answering questions under oath, and submitting to the same scrutiny that any ordinary Filipino would face.

Letters from abroad are not due process. They are excuses.

The House of Representatives cannot hide behind symbolic gestures.

Co’s resignation, without any real answers, is meaningless to ordinary citizens who suffer the effects of corruption every single day.

Co says he is “apprehensive” about returning home.

But it is the Filipino people who have every reason to be apprehensive, about the next flood, the next earthquake, the next tragedy made worse by stolen funds and substandard work.

Habang si Zaldy Co ay nagrereklamo ng “prejudgment,” at ang kanyang mga kapanalig ay nagsasabing ang kanyang pagbibitiw ay isang “sakripisyo,” araw-araw namang may naka-ambang trahedya sa milyon-milyong Pilipino dahil sa trilyong pisong ninakaw na pondo.

Ang tawaging sakripisyo ang pagbibitiw ni Co ay insulto sa tunay na sakripisyo ng mga mahihirap.

Ang kakapal ng mukha. Kung may masahol pa sa kapal ng mukha, ito na ‘yon.

Hindi sapat ang mga liham, palusot, at kasinungalingan. Pauuwiin, Panagutin at Parusahan ang mga nagkasala.

Ed Javier

Ed Javier is a veteran communicator with over 35 years of experience in corporate, government, and advocacy communications, spanning the terms of seven Philippine presidents. He is also a political analyst, entrepreneur, and media professional. Drawing on this experience, he delivers clear, accessible analysis of political, governance, and business issues.