By Herman M. Lagon

There is a reason many parents instinctively ask follow-up questions when a child comes home with a dramatic story. The moment the details start changing, suspicion naturally follows. The missing notebook was supposedly stolen. Then it was left in the classroom. Later, it was borrowed by a classmate. Eventually, nobody knows what really happened. The notebook is no longer the issue. The storyteller’s credibility is.

That is where many of us seem to be today — curious, skeptical, and waiting for something more substantial than allegations.

The testimony presented by the 18 former Marines during the Senate gathering last Thursday certainly grabs attention. It speaks of cash-filled maletas, billions in alleged payoffs, and a growing list of personalities that seems to lengthen with every hearing and press conference. If any of it is true, the country deserves answers. But extraordinary accusations are not sustained by intrigue alone. They rise or fall on evidence. Corruption and abuse of public funds are real. Nobody should pretend otherwise.

Yet what has captured public attention is not the size of the claims but the growing number of questions surrounding them. Many who initially listened or watched with curiosity eventually found themselves scratching their heads. The problem is not that the accused denied the allegations. Of course, they did. Public officials almost always deny accusations. What deserves equal scrutiny is not only the testimony itself but also the decision to elevate that testimony to a national platform before many of its claims had been independently verified. Public hearings are supposed to test evidence, not simply amplify allegations. The problem is that some of the stories themselves began developing cracks before any serious cross-examination even started.

As a teacher, I have sat through countless student investigations over the years. I have seen students tell the truth nervously and others tell half-truths confidently. What I learned is that facts usually support each other. Inconsistent stories often need assistance.

In fact, some pointed to a concern. During portions of the Senate gathering, a few of the former Marines appeared uncertain about details contained in the affidavit they had supposedly signed. At times, some senators conducting the questioning seemed more familiar with specific allegations than the witnesses themselves. That observation alone does not prove coaching. Still, the exchange left a lingering question. If these were their stories, why did some of the witnesses seem less certain about the details than those questioning them?

Fair or unfair, that impression lingered. Once doubts about credibility begin to surface, every inconsistency attracts greater scrutiny.

That is why many observers became uneasy when certain details refused to line up.

Take the claims involving Rep. Leila de Lima. Critics quickly flagged a basic problem: Portions of the alleged timeline overlapped with years when she was behind bars. This was not a political issue but a factual one. The Marines later conceded the mistake. Still, the admission created a larger credibility problem. If such a significant detail could be wrong, many began asking what else might not hold up under scrutiny.

The same thing happened with claims involving former Senate President Tito Sotto. One witness allegedly mentioned an aide named Mark who supposedly received money. Sotto responded that the aide being referred to had died years earlier. Whether one agrees with Sotto or not is irrelevant. Ordinary people understand why such details matter. If someone cannot accurately identify who received the package, when it was received, or where it was delivered, confidence starts slipping.

It is similar to hearing a fishing story in Iloilo. The first version says the fisherman caught a 5-kilo tanguigue. By the next barangay, it becomes 10 kilos. By the next week, it somehow becomes 20. The fish may have existed. The problem is that the details keep growing faster than the evidence.

Some critics even raised the allegations against basic arithmetic. Using the amounts mentioned publicly, they estimated that moving PHP 805 billion in cash would require roughly 13,416 large suitcases and 5.5 years of continuous transactions and deliveries. Whether the exact figures are correct is beside the point. The broader issue is that extraordinary logistical claims should leave extraordinary traces and receipts. So far, the public has seen stories. It has yet to see the trail such an operation would almost inevitably create.

Some allegations seemed even harder to digest.

The controversy eventually reached Fr. Flavie Villanueva and former Kabataan Rep. Manuel. By then, people were paying closer attention to the details. Questions arose when anti-EJK advocate Fr. Flavie was allegedly linked to a cash-filled maleta delivered to a place church sources said was not even an SVD mission. Similar allegations later reached Ilonggo activist Manuel, known to be the poorest congressman in the 19th Congress. For many observers, the issue was no longer the accusation itself but whether the facts behind it could hold up.

Then another oddity surfaced. A former Marine spoke of them receiving iPhone 16e units as rewards, but observers later pointed out that the particular model would only become available about a year later. Maybe there is an explanation. Maybe there is not. But for many watching, it became one more reason to ask whether all the pieces of the story really fit together.

That does not automatically mean the claims were false. Most know corruption is real and would not be shocked if some politicians on the list eventually had serious questions to answer. But it does invite a fair question: Why did a flood-control inquiry seem to focus largely on Duterte critics?

Some also wondered about the omissions. Opposition figures appeared often, while prominent names associated with Senate leadership, including Loren Legarda and the Villars, remained outside the narrative. That absence does not disprove the allegations. But it inevitably fueled suspicions that the net may have been cast selectively.

The ICC allegation stretched the imagination even further. According to the narrative, millions of dollars supposedly changed hands to influence international investigators. Yet the ICC itself operates through institutional funding, audited procedures, and established protocols. Such a claim would require extraordinary proof. The public would reasonably expect documents, financial trails, communications, or testimony capable of surviving independent scrutiny. So far, what has largely circulated are allegations rather than verifiable evidence.

Perhaps what bothers many is not the possibility of corruption. Most already assume it exists and are no longer shocked by allegations of it. What troubles them is how often serious accusations arrive without equally serious evidence.

While politicians trade accusations, ordinary people continue worrying about matters far less dramatic but far more immediate: tuition fees, hospital bills, rising food prices, and jobs that barely keep pace with inflation. Every hour spent chasing weak claims is an hour not spent addressing problems people actually bring home to their families.

Scroll through social media long enough and everyone becomes either a villain or a hero, depending on which page one follows. The result is a strange kind of political tribalism where some people believe everything said by their side and nothing said by the other. Truth becomes secondary. Team loyalty becomes primary.

That is dangerous.

The real issue is not whether one supports Marcos, Duterte, Tulfo, Trillanes, De Lima, Sotto, or anyone else. The real issue is whether evidence still matters. Because once evidence stops mattering, anybody can accuse anybody of anything. Today, it is a senator. Tomorrow, it could be a priest. The next day, it could be a journalist, a teacher, a doctor, or an ordinary citizen.

If the 18 former Marines — along with their lawyer, Levi Baligod, and their alleged patron lawyer, Mike Defensor — possess proof, let them bring it to the official Blue Ribbon Committee, the NBI, the Ombudsman, the courts, the media, and any forum where evidence can be tested properly. If some allegations are true, then those responsible should answer for them. If many are fabricated, then those who fabricated them should answer as well.

Until then, the story remains trapped in the same place where it began: between allegation and proof, between theater and truth. And in that space, the oldest rule still applies. It may be dramatic, emotional, and politically useful.

But facts eventually ask for receipts. And receipts do not care whose side we are on.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed by or connected with.