More news about how the COVID-19 pandemic in the Philippines is being handled by the public and the government.
It's ben five years sine the pandemic and the public is still unaware of how the government spent money on vaccines. Because the government has not been forthcoming several lawyers have petitioned the Supreme Court to compel them to release that information.
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| https://mb.com.ph/2025/4/10/lawyers-urge-sc-to-compel-gov-t-to-disclose-information-on-covid-19-expenditures |
Several lawyers asked the Supreme Court (SC) to compel several government agencies to make public all information related to the supply agreements forged to address the past Covid-19 pandemic.
In a petition, the SC was told that “… given the number of deaths due to the pandemic and the Philippine government’s allotment of almost P113.5 billion for procurement of vaccines -- of which P104,549,369,856.60 or 92.12 percent of the total allotment came from loans -- made such information truly a matter of utmost public interest.”
The petition was filed by former solicitor general and former Integrated Bar of the Philippines (IBP) president Jose Anselmo I. Cadiz and lawyers Randall C. Tabayoyong, Jeffrey B. Constantino and Nizzane P. Vico.
Named respondents were Department of Health (DOH) Secretary Teodoro J. Herbosa and former health secretary Maria Rosario S. Vergeire, Department of Finance (DOF) Secretary Ralph G. Recto, Department of Budget and Management (DBM) Secretary Amenah F. Pangandaman and the Commission on Audit (COA) through its Chairman Gamaliel A. Cordoba.
The petitioners told the SC that they filed a case after the respondents denied their requests to be provided with details of the supply agreements on the Covid-19 vaccines entered by the government, specifically, information on the brands, quantities and prices at which the vaccines were procured and paid for by the government
They said specific data were requested from respondents on the supply agreements entered into by the government for the various Covid-19 vaccines that it procured; brands and quantities of vaccines procured; and prices after sales documentation and liquidation reports of the funding sourced from 2001 and 2022 national budget.
At the same time, they said they also sought information on what the government did with any excess funds allotted for anti-Covid-19 program after President Marcos issued Proclamation No. 297 that lifted the State of Public Health Emergency throughout the Philippines on July 21, 2023.
“Disappointingly, instead of assisting petitioners in obtaining such very important information, which should have been made accessible to the public immediately after the state of national emergency has been lifted, respondents DBM, DOF and COA erected a blank wall and denied petitioners’ reasonable requests made under respondents respective Freedom of Information Manuals…,” they also said.
The refusal of the respondents to provide the requested information violates Section 28 of the 1987 Constitution which mandates the government to adopt and implement a policy of full disclosure of all its transactions involving public interest.
At the same time, they pointed out that the respondents violated Section 7, Article II of the Constitution which guarantees the right of the people to information on matters of public concern.
They told the SC: "We are hopeful that, through this Petition, the Supreme Court will recognize the urgency and importance of our request for the Supply Agreements as well as the grave abuse of discretion that the respondents committed in denying that request. In the end, we are only trying to uphold the people's right to information guaranteed under our Constitution,”
It is expected that the SC will tackle the petition after its Holy Week recess.
The public deserves to know.
Here's a reflection on the pandemic by an OFW. Or maybe he is a natural born US citizen. It's hard to tell.
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| https://lifestyle.inquirer.net/537304/divided-we-stood-reflections-five-years-after-covid/ |
Five years ago, the world came to a standstill. I revisited my journal from March 2020, and back then, the uncertainty was overwhelming—an eerie, collective pause that forced us to confront the unknown. Looking back, it wasn’t just the virus that reshaped our lives, but also the political and social upheavals that had already been in motion.
Before the pandemic, former President Rodrigo Duterte had cemented his grip on the Philippines, waging a bloody war on drugs that disproportionately targeted the poor. His administration thrived on fear, disinformation, and violence, silencing critics—those of us who dared to speak out. I was harassed online relentlessly for my outspoken stance against his regime, a chilling reminder of how authoritarianism thrives in the digital age. My inbox was filled with vitriolic hate from nameless profiles, ranging from name-calling like “bobo” and slut-shaming antics to messages saying I should just commit suicide.
It was so alarming I had to turn off the comments section on all my online platforms to protect my sanity. Now, five years later, justice is finally catching up with Duterte. As he faces trial at the International Criminal Court (ICC), the world is beginning to reckon with the atrocities committed under his rule—though, for the thousands of families torn apart, no justice will ever be enough.
Meanwhile, here in the US, Donald Trump was president, and the pandemic only deepened the political fractures that had already been growing. It wasn’t just a public health crisis—it was also a test of ideology, of truth, of humanity itself. His handling of COVID-19, the divisive rhetoric, and the anti-immigrant policies—including the continued push for a border wall—exposed just how much we were living in separate realities.
The most painful part? Watching family members and close friends justify those policies, despite the fact that I am an immigrant myself. The strain was undeniable. Conversations became battlegrounds, relationships eroded, and the very idea of community felt more fragile than ever.
Adjustment
In the midst of this political turmoil, the pandemic forced new adaptations. I was pursuing my master’s in nonprofit management at Antioch University in Culver City, adjusting to remote learning alongside my children, who were also navigating their own confined realities. House-hunting became an even more precarious endeavor, with the market demanding we waive contingencies in a high-stakes gamble for stability. Meanwhile, my kids were in the throes of individuation, retreating behind closed doors in an attempt to carve out space in a world that had collapsed into the walls of our home.
Despite the isolation, there were unexpected connections. My relationship with legendary actress Cherie Gil deepened during this time, as she embraced leading online classes and I joined her Master Class series, connecting with other artists about the craft of acting.
The shutdown, while severing so many ties, paradoxically strengthened some bonds in ways I had never anticipated. I joined Island Pacific Seafood Market right before the world shutdown, and my biggest challenge and accomplishment was helping to launch an e-commerce platform in under a month with my new associates at a time when online spaces became the primary means of survival for businesses.
And in the midst of uncertainty, we welcomed two pets—perhaps an instinctive attempt to inject warmth into a world that felt increasingly detached. The family and I spent regular meaningful time on walks with our animals around the block, which became the only moments I felt a sense of regularity in a precarious time.
Then there was the virus itself. I’ve had COVID three times since, and each bout was a brutal reminder of its relentless grip. The sensation of swallowing felt like sharp shards in my throat—a literal and figurative reminder of how deeply this pandemic cut into our lives.
Emotional minefield
The chasm between our realities deepened with the arrival of vaccines. For me, getting myself and my family vaccinated was a no-brainer—a logical step in protecting ourselves and our community. Yet, many close to me continued to vehemently contest the validity of vaccination, citing misinformation and conspiracy theories. It wasn’t just a difference of opinion; it felt like a fundamental divergence in how we understood science, trust, and even basic human responsibility.
These conversations were not mere debates, they were emotional minefields, filled with a sense of betrayal and a deep-seated fear that the very foundation of our relationships was crumbling. The constant barrage of anti-vaccine rhetoric, often fueled by the same sources that promoted political division, added an unbearable layer of tension.
It wasn’t just about the vaccine; it was about the erosion of shared reality, the fracturing of trust, and the painful realization that even in the face of a global crisis, deeply entrenched ideologies could divide us irrevocably. The feeling of being on one side of a deep divide, with those you love on the other, was a unique kind of isolation. And don’t even get me started on what the isolation meant for my gallivanting mother, whose daily exercise of walking and going to visit friends was curtailed and led to the severe decline of her health.
Now, five years later, what does it all mean? The pandemic didn’t just disrupt—it fundamentally reoriented us. It exposed the fragility of the systems we rely on, from healthcare to housing to education. It blurred the boundaries between work and life, between isolation and connection, between what we thought was stable and what was, in reality, always in flux.
Yet, perhaps the most significant shift has been internal. The collective trauma of COVID-19 reshaped our priorities, recalibrated our definitions of success, and forced us to reckon with impermanence. We learned to pivot, to adapt, to let go of assumptions about how life “should” unfold.
The pandemic was both a rupture and a revelation—a stark reminder not only of our vulnerabilities but also of our capacity to persist.
As I reflect on these past five years, I’m reminded that while we can’t always predict the disruptions ahead, we can choose how we emerge from them. And maybe that’s the greatest lesson of all.
This man had a very different experience than actual Filipinos in the Philippines. Many of the sentiments are the same though.
Two businessmen based in Cebu have been linked to a $44 million dollar scam which ramped up during the pandemic when they exploited computer systems during a work-from-home arrangement.
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| https://cebudailynews.inquirer.net/632392/2-cebu-based-execs-held-linked-to-44m-scam-in-us-can-return-to-ph-if |
Two Cebu-based business process outsourcing (BPO) executives, who are among three Filipinos implicated in the alleged $44-million publishing scam that defrauded hundreds of elderly writers in the United States, have a 99.99 percent chance of returning to the Philippines.
This is according to their legal counsel, Oliver Baclay Jr., in a press briefing on Friday, April 11, where he vehemently denied the involvement of his clients to the alleged $44-million publishing scam.
Lawyer Baclay was referring to Mike Sordilla, CEO of Innocentrix and founder of Hiyas Pilipinas; and Bryan Tarosa, vice president of Innocentrix.
Innocentrix is the BPO firm set up by Sordilla in Mandaue City.
Both executives and California-based Gemma Traya Austin are facing charges in the U.S. of conspiracy to commit mail and wire fraud and money laundering conspiracy for operating a book publishing scam that ran for 7 years.
Baclay claims that Sordilla and Tarosa had no criminal liability, and that the U.S. charges stemmed from the unauthorized actions of two rogue sales agents who exploited the company’s systems during a work-from-home arrangement at the height of the pandemic.
“Mike denies any criminal liabilities. All the accusations stated on the DOJ website—and later carried by various news outlets—were the actions of sales agents who acted without authority, exceeded their authority, or accessed the IT infrastructure of Innocentrix without authorization.
All those actions were contrary to the policies of Innocentrix,” Baclay told reporters during a press conference.
Sordilla and Tarosa are currently detained at the Metropolitan Correctional Center in San Diego after they were arrested in the U.S. in December 2024.
The U.S. Department of Justice (DOJ) alleges that the three operated a fraudulent scheme under the name PageTurner, Press and Media LLC from September 2017 to December 2024, promising elderly authors that their books would be turned into Hollywood films in exchange for thousands of dollars in fees.
The operation reportedly defrauded over 800 victims of a total of $44 million (roughly P2.5 billion in today’s rates).
But Baclay maintained his stance that the accusations were “unfounded and exaggerated.”
He said the DOJ’s basis came from unauthorized actions of specific employees, not company policy.
He also addressed suspicions over Sordilla’s purchase of more than 10 iPhones in the U.S., which authorities believed could be tied to the alleged fraud.
(Mike intended to buy those gadgets for Thanksgiving, and he intends to make his Innocentrix family here happy.)
(Those gadgets are not meant to commit scams. If the intention is to use those cellphones to scam people, then it should have been bought here—why would they be bought in the US? So, there’s some sort of socio-cultural difference, no? Because what those in the US saw of someone having several phones may not be culturally accepted, or that [not being] common for them.)
They are currently being held in San Diego.
Another businessman, not Filipino, has been accused of running a scam during the pandemic.
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| https://sea.mashable.com/tech/37206/tech-ceo-promised-ai-but-hired-workers-in-the-philippines-instead-fbi-claims |
The former CEO of fintech app Nate has been charged with fraud for making misleading claims about the app's artificial intelligence technology — or lack thereof.
In a bizarre twist from the usual AI narrative, the FBI alleges that this time human beings were doing the work of AI, and not the other way around.
According to a press release from the U.S. Attorney's Office, Southern District of New York, Albert Saniger has been indicted for a scheme to defraud investors. “As alleged, Albert Saniger misled investors by exploiting the promise and allure of AI technology to build a false narrative about innovation that never existed," Acting U.S. Attorney Matthew Podolsky said in the release.
Government attorneys say Nate claimed to use AI technology to complete the e-commerce checkout process for customers. In reality, they allege the company hired a team of human contractors in the Philippines to do the work. In total, Saniger raised more than $40 million from investors.
"In truth, Nate relied heavily on teams of human workers — primarily located overseas — to manually process transactions in secret, mimicking what users believed was being done by automation," said FBI Assistant Director in Charge Christopher G. Raia. "Saniger used hundreds of contractors, or 'purchasing assistants,' in a call center located in the Philippines to manually complete purchases occurring over the Nate app."
The much-hyped AI industry promises to reduce labor costs and increase efficiency across industries. In turn, this has incentivized sketchy startup practices as opportunistic entrepreneurs market their apps based on future-facing potential.
The Information first reported that the Nate app might have "exaggerated tech capabilities to investors" back in 2022. At the time, e-commerce was experiencing a "pandemic-fueled shopping boom," the outlet reported, making fintech startups irresistibly appealing to venture capitalists. According to the new indictment, Saniger "concealed" the app's near zero percent automation rate from investors and even his own employees, restricting Nate's automation data as a "trade secret."
The "fake it till you make it" mentality is a well-established doctrine in the startup playbook, but clearly a risky one, at least, according to the FBI and the U.S. Attorney's Office.
Instead of raising money, Saniger is now facing one charge each of securities fraud and wire fraud; both charges carry maximum sentences of 20 years in prison.
The pandemic fueled online shopping which caused Albert Saniger to exaggerate the capabilities of his app. Instead of the app fulfilling orders he had Filipinos doing all the work.
