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Crissa Tolentino has grown used to flooding as an everyday reality.

This teacher takes a small vessel through waterlogged streets on a regular basis. It's the just means to commute from her home in the suburbs to the center of a low-lying town near Manila.

Her transportation transports her to her job, and to the clinic where she is undergoing therapy for her condition. She says she only sees dry streets for a brief period each year.

But currently she is deeply frustrated.

A particularly intense monsoon has upended daily life to a greater extent in this island country, and ignited anger and accusations about corruption in infrastructure initiatives.

The rains have stranded millions while traveling, submerged automobiles in streets that have become rivers and caused outbreaks of leptospirosis, a liver ailment that propagates through the excrement of sewer rats.

"It’s a betrayal," the teacher says. "I work hard, I am frugal and levies are withheld from my salary each pay period. I find out that vast sums in public funds are taken advantage of by dishonest officials."

It's a charge that is resonating throughout the country, where residents are questioning why the authorities cannot manage the inundation with the billions of currency it invests in infrastructure like highways, bridges and flood barriers.

Public outrage is evident on social media, social networks and X, where they are venting toward officials and industry leaders who they assert win contracts for ghost projects that are not realized.

President Ferdinand Bongbong Marcos himself admitted this as a persistent problem on a visit to inspect a barrier that he then realized did not exist. The minister later said graft had taken the majority of taxpayer resources earmarked for flood control.

The legislative leader, who has been linked, has resigned, although he rejects any impropriety. And the leader of the Senate has been removed after it was discovered that a business who won a state project was revealed to have given money to his political run, which is prohibited.

Outraged Filipinos have been producing AI videos of officials as representatives of corruption, a metaphor of greed. Plenty of the ire is also directed toward nepo babies, the children of affluent politicians or contractors, whose lavish lives are all over social media.

Browsing through her feeds, the teacher says she connects deeply with a piece of music from years back which has become the soundtrack to the widespread anger.

The track, by recording artist Gloc-9, asks why politicians are incapable to connect with ordinary people. The title means seat in Tagalog, and it channels the resentment at those with elected roles who seem far removed from the lives of regular Filipinos.

"That song is the truth," the resident says. "It sums it up."

A huge graft-focused protest is already set for this weekend—the observance of the day in that year when the former president Ferdinand Marcos imposed emergency rule.

His son, who is now in power—the younger Marcos—is acutely mindful of how far public anger can go. It was, public demonstrations that forced his father from power in the past, ending a prolonged dictatorship that misappropriated billions from the state.

More recently, public outcry forced governmental adjustments in Indonesia and, only days ago, brought down the government in Nepal. Accordingly on Monday, as Filipinos insisted on an explanation, the leader announced an probe that would "unmask the fraudsters and find out how much they stole."

"Were I not in office, I might be joining the protests with them," he told reporters.

"Ensure they understand how much they hurt you, how they stole from you. Inform them, shout at them, rally—just make it peaceful."

This mirrored earlier comments when he promised relief from the floods while appearing to pin the responsibility elsewhere. He criticized corrupt politicians and building companies for the significant shortage of infrastructure: "Shame on you," he said.

Then in a press conference he said he had uncovered a "disturbing" fact: the infrastructure agency had contracted only 15 firms to build water management initiatives worth 545bn pesos ($£7.1bn).

The firms are now under scrutiny and the monetary institution has blocked their assets, but the primary scrutiny has gone to one family-owned business. It is owned by Pacifico and Sarah Discaya, who were brought up in poor families but are now a affluent, high-flying couple active on social media. Earlier, she was best known for her failed attempt to become mayor of a urban area.

In the past year the couple were interviewed on popular YouTube channels, where they shared their humble beginnings story. One interviewer described it as "motivating". But following the disastrous flooding, those videos have resurfaced as targets of frustration.

Viewers see the couple showing off their three dozen luxury cars, including a high-end vehicle, a SUV and a expensive model. They bought some models in two separate colours, black and white.

The reaction was swift. The couple were called by the legislative bodies for hearings, and authorities banned their firm, while protesters defaced the gates to their office with mud and spray-painted the word "offender".

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