On Day 16 of the impeachment trial of Vice President Sara Duterte, the impeachment court suddenly found itself debating Cebuano, the lingua franca of the Bisdaks (Bisayang Dako or native Cebuanos).
But the ?125 million did not speak Cebuano. It spoke only one language: accountability.
There is nothing controversial about a witness choosing to testify in the language she speaks most comfortably. Acosta has every right to testify in Cebuano, and the impeachment court has the obligation to ensure that her testimony is accurately translated and faithfully entered into the official record.
That should have been the end of the language issue.
But it was not. And that is where the controversy becomes politically interesting.
Because while everyone was arguing about language, the 125 million was quietly waiting for an answer.
The prosecution was not questioning Acosta about her mother tongue. It was questioning her about the accounting of 125 million in public funds—particularly the Acknowledgement Receipts (ARs) submitted to the Commission on Audit (COA) and discrepancies between her testimony and earlier statements.
The defense, meanwhile, maintained that Acosta merely performed an administrative function and that operational control of the money belonged to security officials.
That brings us back to the question that matters:
Who ordered the release of the 125 million? Who received it? Who controlled it? And who was ultimately accountable for every peso?
Those questions do not become less important because the witness speaks Cebuano.
When language changes the frame, the danger is not because it is in Cebuano.
The danger is allowing the controversy over Cebuano to change the frame of the proceedings.
A witness being questioned about public money can suddenly be transformed into something else: a Bisaya woman allegedly being bullied by powerful people speaking Tagalog and English.
That is a powerful emotional narrative.
It can generate sympathy. It can provoke regional solidarity. It can shift the public conversation from the substance of the testimony to the perceived treatment of the witness.
Was that deliberate? The record does not fully establish it. There is no basis to claim a conspiracy where none has been proven.
But political theater does not always require choreography. Sometimes the diversion happens organically.
And once it happens, the effect can be the same.
The audience begins asking:
Why are they attacking this Bisaya woman? Why are they making her speak another language?
Why are they ganging up on her?
Fair questions—but not the central questions of an impeachment trial involving 125 million in public funds.
The Senate is not convened to determine which Philippine language deserves greater sympathy.
It is there to determine whether public money was properly handled and whether public authority was lawfully exercised.
The prosecution’s effort to establish a direct connection between Duterte’s instruction and the release of the 125 million is therefore crucial. Follow the Money, Not the Noise.
But establishing the connection is only the beginning.
What happened after the order?
If the funds were legitimately released for confidential security operations, then there should be a corresponding chain of accountability: acknowledgment, custody, liquidation and proof that the money was used for its authorized purpose.
Confidentiality may protect legitimate security operations. It cannot protect the disappearance of accountability.
Government money does not become private money because it is confidential. And responsibility does not disappear simply because money is transferred from one official to another.
Public funds do not become somebody else’s responsibility merely because they cross a doorway.
That is why the Acknowledgment Receipts matter.
They are not mere accounting paperwork. They are part of the documentary trail that should tell the public who received the money, when it was received, in what capacity and what responsibility followed.
If the documents are irregular, incomplete or inconsistent, the chain of accountability cannot simply end at the person who physically carried or received the funds.
The chain must be followed.
And if that chain leads back to an instruction from the head of the office, then the administrative mechanics of the transfer cannot obscure the larger question of who exercised authority over the money.
There is something almost absurd about the contrast.
On one side, we have a controversy over language.
On the other, four bags carrying 125 million in public money.
One can produce outrage, sympathy and regional emotion.
The other produces a much less glamorous demand:
Show us the receipts. Show us the liquidation. Show us where the money went.
That is the uncomfortable beauty of accounting. It does not care whether the person answering is Bisaya, Tagalog, Ilocano, Waray or English-speaking.
It does not care about political alliances. It does not care who has the better theatrics before the cameras.
It asks only: Where is the money?
That is why the language controversy should not be allowed to swallow the substance of Acosta’s testimony.
The witness must be heard fairly. Cebuano must be respected. The translation must be accurate.
But after the translation is done, the questions remain.
Who ordered? Who implemented? Who received? Who controlled? Who liquidated? Who certified?
And ultimately: Who answered for the 125 million? Let the real language of public accountability speaks!
The Philippines is a country of many languages, and that diversity is something to celebrate—not exploit.
A witness should be allowed to speak Cebuano if that is the language in which she can give her most accurate testimony (Or, in which she can be cornered to give an accurate testimony?)
But public accountability has no regional dialect.
Again: it speaks in documents, receipts, signatures, liquidations and pesos.
The impeachment court should therefore resist the temptation—whether deliberate or accidental—to allow the language controversy to become a refuge from the harder questions.
Because the real issue is not whether Acosta speaks Cebuano.
The real issue is what happened to 125 million of the people’s money.
The money did not become less public because it was confidential.
It did not become less accountable because it passed through an administrative officer, or, a security officer not mentioned in the Joint Circular.
And it certainly did not disappear because the proceedings shifted into a debate over language.
The 125 million entered a chain of responsibility.
The job of the impeachment court is to trace that chain until it reaches the person—or persons—who must answer for it.
Let the witness speak Cebuano, if she wants to. Let the Senate translate. Let every Filipino understand her testimony.
But when the translation is finished, return to the money.
Because the impeachment court was not convened to decide which language should be spoken in the Senate.
It was convened to determine whether power was abused, whether public funds were properly used, and whether those entrusted with 125 million can account for every peso.
Cebuano is a language. Accountability is the language of public money.
And 125 million demands that the impeachment court speak the latter. (davaotoday.com)
