ORIGINS OF THE PORK BARREL SYSTEM

ORIGINS OF THE PORK BARREL SYSTEM

As I understand it, the pork barrel system started in the United States. It was designed, at least in theory, to fund local projects that could not possibly be “seen” or addressed from the federal perspective. At its origin, the system might have had noble intentions: to make sure that smaller, localized development needs—roads, bridges, schools—were funded even if they weren’t part of the big federal budget priorities.

But as we know too well, noble beginnings can be corrupted by political expediency. Over time, the pork barrel became less about development and more about political accommodation. Legislators realized that if they could secure money for local projects, they could also secure loyalty from voters—and from contractors. Thus began the transformation of the pork barrel into a tool of patronage.

By the time the system was “exported” to the Philippines during the American colonial era, it may have already been tainted. In 1922, Act 3044 or the Public Works Act gave our legislators discretionary power over public works funding. That was the formal beginning of pork barrel politics here. By 1950, amendments gave congressmen direct control over which projects would be funded. From there, it was only a matter of time before the pork barrel mutated into today’s system of insertions, commissions, and entitlement.

Fast forward to the present, the pork barrel system in the Philippines has acquired such a bad reputation that it has been rebranded several times. We’ve known it as the Countrywide Development Fund (CDF), then the Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF), and now as “congressional insertions.” But a change in name does not erase the culture it has created. Lawmakers treat projects as if they “own” them. They dictate not only where the funds go but also which contractors get the job—and how much they should pocket in commissions.

To be fair, there is nothing new about lawmakers stealing public funds. What is new is the percentage of the cut, which has ballooned with time. Stories abound of 20%, 30%, even 50% commissions from project funds. That is why, in 2013, the Supreme Court declared the PDAF unconstitutional after the Janet Napoles scandal revealed how billions of pesos in pork funds were funneled into ghost projects.

If we look at the U.S. experience, pork barrel spending has also been criticized there, but with one important difference: information. Citizens, watchdog groups, and the media can track federal spending in detail, making it harder to hide questionable allocations. In contrast, in the Philippines, opacity is the rule, not the exception.

Here’s an irony worth pointing out: when the pork barrel was first conceived, one justification was that national governments could not possibly see all local needs. But in this age of technology, that argument no longer holds. With geotagging, satellite mapping, and digital reporting, national governments can now identify even the smallest infrastructure gaps. There is no longer any excuse for duplicating, overlapping, or “invisible” projects.

The real issue, then, is not whether pork barrel funds address local needs. It is whether these funds are managed with transparency and accountability. Left unchecked, pork barrel allocations create a vicious cycle: politicians buy votes during elections, then recover their expenses through corrupt projects, then use the same projects to strengthen their patronage networks. And the cycle continues.

What is the way forward? Some suggest abolishing pork barrel entirely. The Supreme Court has already done this once, but the system has returned under different names. Others argue that local development funds are necessary, but they should be managed through participatory budgeting, where communities themselves decide which projects are prioritized. Imagine if barangay assemblies—not politicians—were empowered to determine how funds are spent, with every peso tracked through online dashboards open to the public.

This is where technology could be our ally. With proper digital systems, it is possible to know in real time what projects are funded, where they are located, and how much they cost. No more excuses that local needs are “invisible” from Manila. Transparency could also dismantle the culture of “ownership” that politicians have over public funds.

At its origin, the pork barrel system was meant to bridge the gap between national priorities and local realities. Along the way, it became a breeding ground for corruption. If we are serious about breaking this cycle, we must not only remember its history but also reimagine how public funds can truly serve the people.

So here is my suggestion: let us move away from pork barrel politics and move toward people’s barrel politics—budgets that are transparent, community-driven, and corruption-proof. Otherwise, we will just keep rebranding the same rotten system under new names, while the people remain hungry for genuine development.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 

01-15-2026