What makes me angry is when people know what is right but have

"What makes me angry is when people know what is right but have, over the years, attuned themselves to the fact that what they're doing, stealing money from government, is acceptable." – Miriam Defensor-Santiago

In these fierce and fiery words, Miriam Defensor-Santiago, one of the most brilliant and fearless political figures in Philippine history, exposes not just corruption, but the deeper moral decay that allows it to thrive. She speaks not merely of theft, but of the corruption of conscience—that silent and invisible erosion that turns sin into habit, and wrongdoing into custom. Her anger is not born of hatred but of grief, for she laments a society that has forgotten to feel shame. To her, the greatest tragedy is not the stealing itself, but that men who know the truth choose to betray it and call that betrayal “normal.”

The origin of this quote comes from Santiago’s lifelong crusade against political corruption in the Philippines. Known for her sharp wit, unyielding intellect, and incorruptible spirit, she fought tirelessly to expose the rot within the system. Her words often cut through hypocrisy like a sword of light through fog. She saw how generations of officials and citizens alike had become “attuned” to dishonesty—how graft and bribery had ceased to be moral crimes and had become cultural habits. In her eyes, this acceptance was worse than ignorance, for it revealed not a lack of knowledge, but a deliberate choice to ignore what is right.

At the heart of her message lies a universal truth: corruption begins not in the treasury, but in the soul. When a man steals money from the government, he does not merely take from the state—he takes from the poor, from the hungry, from the children whose schools remain unfinished and whose futures remain dim. Yet, as Santiago observed, society’s slow tolerance of such evil transforms outrage into apathy. What once shocked the conscience becomes daily routine. What was once scandal becomes spectacle. Thus, she warns us that the greatest enemy of justice is not the corrupt man, but the complacent people who tolerate him.

History bears grim witness to her words. In ancient Rome, when the Republic began to crumble under corruption, senators openly bought votes and plundered provinces, justifying their crimes as “customary practice.” The empire that once stood for law and order fell—not because of foreign invasion, but because its citizens no longer believed in virtue. Similarly, in more modern times, nations blessed with resources have fallen into ruin when leaders enriched themselves at the expense of the governed. Santiago’s fury echoes the warnings of philosophers from Plato to Montesquieu: that the decay of moral principle is the herald of national collapse.

But Santiago’s words are not merely condemnation—they are a call to awakening. She speaks as one who has seen both darkness and light, reminding her listeners that integrity is not inherited; it must be chosen, daily, in small acts of honesty and courage. To know what is right is not enough—it must be defended. To see what is wrong and do nothing is to become complicit in evil. Her quote reminds us that moral numbness is the final stage of corruption, when a people no longer feel the weight of their wrongdoing.

Her anger, then, is sacred—it is the anger of the just. Like the prophets of old, Santiago’s fury burns not for vengeance, but for purification. She demands that her countrymen awaken from moral sleep, that they remember the sacred covenant between ruler and citizen, between conscience and action. “To steal from government,” she implies, “is to steal from the nation’s soul.” And to tolerate it is to let that soul die.

The lesson, therefore, is timeless and urgent: a society’s greatness rests not upon wealth or power, but upon its moral backbone. Every act of corruption, no matter how small, weakens that spine; every act of integrity strengthens it. We must learn to be angry again—not with hatred, but with the righteous fire that purifies and reforms.

And so, the practical actions are these: never excuse wrongdoing, even when it seems normal. Refuse to participate in the quiet conspiracies of convenience. Speak truth even when it is dangerous, and hold those in power to account, not as enemies, but as stewards of public trust. For as Miriam Defensor-Santiago reminds us, the gravest sin is not to err, but to know what is right and still choose what is wrong—for that is not ignorance, but the deliberate betrayal of one’s own humanity.