THE danger in weaponizing plunder is not merely legal. It is political. And it is precisely here where the Marcos administration should be worried.
The recent recommendation by the Office of the Ombudsman to file plunder and indirect bribery charges against Sen. Rodante Marcoleta over alleged campaign donations amounting to P75 million has again raised troubling questions about the increasingly expansive, and at times reckless, use of plunder as a prosecutorial instrument.
No one is arguing that public officials should be immune from investigation. Accountability is indispensable in a democracy. Corruption must be prosecuted. Abuse of power must be punished.
But accountability collapses into spectacle when the government files weak cases merely because the amount involved sounds large, the accused is politically controversial, or the optics appear favorable.
Plunder is not an ordinary criminal offense. It is among the gravest accusations that can be hurled against a public official. It is non-bailable. It instantly destroys reputations even before trial. Because of that, it demands extraordinary evidentiary discipline.
Unfortunately, what we are increasingly seeing is a disturbing tendency to invoke plunder almost reflexively, even when the legal architecture necessary to sustain the charge appears shaky.
That is dangerous because when the courts eventually dismiss these cases, the administration does not emerge looking strong. It emerges looking abusive, incompetent and politically desperate.
In trying to politically weaken personalities like Marcoleta, the administration may actually be strengthening them.
Under Republic Act 7080, plunder is not established merely because money changed hands or because the amount exceeds P50 million. The law requires proof that a public official amassed ill-gotten wealth through a combination or series of overt criminal acts involving misuse of office, kickbacks, commissions or schemes that caused prejudice to the State.
The key legal question is therefore simple: Were these campaign donations part of a corrupt scheme involving abuse of public office?
If prosecutors cannot convincingly establish that link, then the case becomes vulnerable from the very beginning.
And vulnerability is not merely a legal problem. It is a political liability.
The Ombudsman itself now operates under a stricter evidentiary standard requiring prima facie evidence with reasonable certainty of conviction. In other words, the government is no longer supposed to file cases simply because there is suspicion, media pressure or political demand for action. The evidence must already be sufficiently strong that, if left uncontroverted, it could plausibly sustain conviction.
Weak prosecutions consume enormous public resources. Investigations cost money. Prosecutors cost money. Intelligence-gathering costs money. Court proceedings cost money. Entire institutional machineries are mobilized. Public attention is consumed. Political energies are redirected.
And if after all of that the courts throw the case out, what exactly has the government accomplished?
Nothing substantial. Except perhaps the destruction of its own credibility.
This is where the administration should be extremely careful.
There is already a growing public perception that institutions are being weaponized against political adversaries. Whether fair or unfair, that perception now exists. Once anti-corruption efforts begin appearing selective, every succeeding case becomes politically contaminated.
The problem with weak plunder cases is that they hand political ammunition to the opposition.
If Marcoleta eventually survives the case, or worse, if the courts dismiss it for insufficiency of evidence, he does not become politically diminished. He becomes politically validated. He becomes the man who supposedly survived political persecution.
And in Philippine politics, victimhood is political capital.
We have seen this movie before. Administrations repeatedly believe that headline-grabbing prosecutions automatically weaken rivals. But when the legal foundations are unstable, the reverse happens. The accused transforms from suspect into martyr.
The administration then suffers a double blow. First, it fails legally. Second, it unintentionally strengthens the narrative that government institutions are being used as political weapons.
And this comes at a particularly dangerous time for the Marcos administration.
Public dissatisfaction remains high, especially among lower-income sectors struggling with inflation, food prices, transportation costs and declining purchasing power. Filipinos are increasingly impatient with political theatrics when everyday economic anxieties remain unresolved.
Under these conditions, failed prosecutions become politically expensive.
People eventually begin asking: Why is the government spending so much energy chasing political opponents while ordinary citizens continue struggling to survive?
The administration cannot afford that perception, especially heading toward 2028. Every failed high-profile case gradually erodes the moral authority of the government itself.
And let us be honest here. The issue is not merely Marcoleta.
The larger institutional concern is the normalization of using plunder as an oversized prosecutorial hammer even when the evidence may not yet justify it. That is dangerous for the justice system itself.
When plunder becomes casually invoked, its moral and legal gravity weakens. The charge risks becoming less a carefully calibrated anti-corruption mechanism and more a political signaling device designed to project toughness.
But courts are not press conferences.
Judges eventually examine evidence. And evidence cannot be replaced by press releases, political narratives or social media applause.
This is why the Ombudsman must exercise caution. Not restraint against accountability, but discipline in the pursuit of accountability.
Because failed prosecutions damage institutions far more than delayed prosecutions.
A dismissed case against a prominent opposition figure does not merely embarrass the Ombudsman. It damages the broader anti-corruption agenda of the administration. It feeds suspicion that cases are filed not because they are legally airtight, but because they are politically useful.
And once that perception hardens, even legitimate future prosecutions become vulnerable to public skepticism.
The administration should therefore understand the strategic danger here.
Weak plunder cases may satisfy short-term political instincts, but they create long-term institutional costs. Politically, the consequences may be even worse.
Every failed prosecution potentially increases the credibility of the administration’s critics. Every dismissed case becomes campaign material. Every acquittal becomes proof, at least in the eyes of supporters, that the accused was politically targeted.
In trying to destroy Marcoleta politically, the government may actually be manufacturing a stronger Marcoleta.
That would not only waste public funds and government resources. It would also diminish the credibility of the administration itself.
And in politics, credibility once lost is extraordinarily difficult to recover.
The author is vice chairman of the board of the state-run PTV 4 and a professor at the University of the Philippines Los Baños.
