The recent declaration of full support by the leadership of the Bangsamoro Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (BARMM) for President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.’s renewed anti-corruption stance arrives at a curious moment—one marked not only by government efforts to cleanse its ranks, but also by glaring gaps in accountability, transparency, and responsibility at the highest levels of power.
On paper, the BARMM statement reads robust. It praises the creation of the Independent Commission for Infrastructure, the freezing of assets linked to anomalous flood-control projects, and the cancellation of 2026 flood-control funds. These are good policy moves. They sound decisive. They sound reassuring.
But they also raise a troubling question: Why is the call for accountability so loud downward, yet so silent upward?
If corruption indeed siphoned off billions—potentially the largest financial loss in recent memory—why is command responsibility nowhere in this conversation? Why is there no reflection on the fact that the national budget, which supposedly underwent “ten days” of rigorous review by the President and his team, still allowed such massive irregularities to flourish? Either the review was superficial, or oversight failed at the top. In both scenarios, the President is not a bystander. He is the chief steward of public funds.
And yet, the BARMM leadership’s statement stops just short of acknowledging this essential truth.
Worse, the statement is conspicuously silent on the recent allegations raised by no less than Senator Imee Marcos’s own sister—claims that the President, the First Lady, and even Speaker Sandro Marcos are involved in the use of illegal drugs, specifically cocaine. These allegations, explosive and unprecedented, demand scrutiny. Instead, we get silence from those who claim to champion integrity.
There is also no mention of the President’s troubling role in the disruption of the Bangsamoro peace process—a concern echoed not just by civil society, but by the Moro Islamic Liberation Front itself. For a region whose stability is anchored on trust and consistent engagement, any disruption from the national executive should have warranted at least a hint of concern. Yet again: silence.
The BARMM leadership pledges loyalty. But to whom, and for how long?
If the President’s political fortunes crumble under the weight of corruption scandals, drug allegations, or peace-process failures, will BARMM’s leaders remain steadfast? Or will they pivot to the next occupant of Malacañang as quickly as past political tides have shifted? Is this solidarity rooted in principle—or in the perennial politics of the purse?
The people of the Bangsamoro, long marginalized and repeatedly betrayed by national governments, deserve leaders who stand with them, not merely with whoever holds the national budget. True partnership between Manila and the BARMM requires honesty and courage—not just press statements of support that avoid the difficult truths.
If BARMM leaders truly believe in good governance, then they must also believe in accountability that flows both ways—downward to local officials and upward to the President himself. Anything less is not governance. It is choreography.
And choreography, no matter how well-performed, does not build peace. It merely delays the reckoning.