Wrapped in Red Tape: Christmas in the Time of Corruption

By the time December arrives, streets glow with lights, carols float through the air, and politicians roll out their annual greetings of “Maligayang Pasko sa lahat.” But for millions of Filipinos, Christmas comes not with gifts or relief, but with the familiar weight of absence—no clean water, no decent roads, no classrooms repaired, no hospitals improved. In a season meant for giving, the poorest communities are left asking the same bitter question: where did the money go?

Every year, billions of pesos are allocated for public services—healthcare, education, housing, disaster preparedness, and social protection. These funds are meant to reach the very people who line up under the sun for ayuda, who walk kilometers to fetch water, who sleep in evacuation centers long after typhoons have passed. On paper, the budget looks generous. In reality, the results are painfully thin.

In many barangays, health centers lack basic medicines despite approved budgets. Classrooms remain overcrowded or unfinished even after ribbon-cutting ceremonies. Roads are dug up, repaved, then dug up again—projects were repeated not because they are necessary, but because they are profitable.

Delays are described as “extensions” and costs are adjusted through “variation orders,” while funds are “realigned” quietly. What should be a very straightforward public service project is mired in bureaucratic excuses and technical jargon. In the gap between approval and implementation, public funds find their way into private hands, either by means of hidden envelopes, kickbacks, outrageous contracts, or ghost deliveries. Each delay, each “extension,” each variation order quietly fattens someone else’s Christmas bonus.

This is how corruption dresses itself during the holidays: not as outright theft, but as leakage, inefficiency, and technicalities. Funds are “realigned.” Projects are “delayed.” Suppliers are “preferred.” Somewhere between approval and implementation, public money slips into private pockets—wrapped neatly in envelopes, kickbacks, overpriced contracts, and even ghost deliveries.

Meanwhile, the poor unwrap nothing.

For families living hand-to-mouth, undelivered public services are not abstract policy failures; they are daily emergencies. A missing health budget means untreated illness. A delayed housing project means another rainy season under leaking roofs. A stolen education fund means children sharing textbooks—or dropping out entirely. Corruption does not just steal money; it steals time, dignity, and chances of a better life.

What makes this especially cruel during Christmas is the contrast. Politicians distribute relief goods with their names printed in bold letters. Tarpaulins proclaim generosity, while the real obligation—to ensure sustained, quality public service—remains unmet. Charity replaces accountability. Photo ops replace solutions. The poor are expected to be grateful for crumbs taken from a loaf that was already theirs.

So where does the money go?

It goes to padded contracts, to political allies, to lifestyles that grow more extravagant as public services grow more scarce. It goes to holiday parties in air-conditioned halls, while communities endure sweltering heat and darkness in homes without reliable electricity. It goes to luxury vehicles passing through flood-prone roads that were supposedly “fixed” years ago.

And why do the poorest still have nothing to unwrap?

Because corruption thrives where oversight is weak, where transparency is performative, and where poverty itself becomes a convenient shield—exhausted citizens are too busy surviving to demand answers. Because accountability is often seasonal, but corruption is year-round.

A truly “merry” Christmas cannot coexist with futures that have been robbed. The bright and merry festive lights do not cover up the fact that many clinics are without patients. The singing of Christmas carols cannot silence the fact that there are many classrooms in disrepair and schools that have not yet been built. Unless public funds are put where they are meant to be used, Christmas time will always be a period of waiting for many people.

Perhaps the most honest Christmas message we can offer is this: the poor do not need more promises wrapped in speeches. They need their money back—delivered as services, justice, and dignity. Only then can Christmas mean something more than survival.

Article: Jae Juson

Graphics: Kent Bicol