Daven Tamayo

Boardroom Tea: When POGO scam farms closed, hell opened elsewhere

Article (news)

Salve Ibaňez

<p>President Marcos intended to solve a problem when he banned Philippine Offshore Gaming Operators in July 2024. Instead, what happened was we exported a national shame. </p><p>The criminal syndicates didn’t disappear—they simply packed up their torture tools and moved to Cambodia, Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, and now even Pakistan. And the worst part is that we’re not just victims of these scam farms anymore. We’ve become the scammers.</p><p>Philippine Ambassador to Cambodia Flerida Ann Camille Mayo dropped a bombshell that should have dominated headlines: the number of Filipinos seeking rescue from Cambodian scam hubs operations exploded 400 percent from two years ago.  </p><p>While this statistic itself is already indicative of the extent of this massive problem, it doesn’t capture the real horror story she shared with me. </p><div><br/></div><div><strong>The Devil Wears a Facebook Ad </strong></div><p>Here’s how the recruitment of this POGO back office workers turned scammers works: Using Facebook and Telegram, recruiters promise P50,000 monthly salaries. The ads even have the audacity to say: “Mabait employer, no torture here.” </p><p>The victims? High school graduates in their 20s and 30s, who are willing to travel through backdoor routes—speedboats from Palawan to Sabah, then overland through Malaysia, eventually landing in places like Myawaddy in Myanmar or Phnom Penh in Cambodia.  </p><div><br/></div><div><strong>When Quotas Mean Life or Death</strong> </div><p>One young man told Ambassador Mayo he managed to scam a victim out of $500,000. That’s a lot of money extracted from some lonely widow or divorced professional in the Philippines or in nearby countries.  </p><p>The scam operations are brutally sophisticated. Love scams targeting seniors whose Facebook posts get zero likes, whose friend lists reveal crushing loneliness. Crypto investment schemes pitched to high-value targets—lawyers, doctors, divorced professionals. Once the victim agrees to move from public Facebook posts into “PM mode,” the Filipino scammer gets paid and another team takes over the con. </p><p>Think about that progression. These young Filipinos are literally paid per victim—human hunters compensated for identifying lonely hearts. </p><div><br/></div><div><strong>The Embassy’s Impossible Position</strong> </div><p>Here’s where it gets darkly comic, if you can stomach the irony: Filipino workers trapped in these scam compounds call the Philippine Embassy begging for rescue. The embassy coordinates their release. While waiting, the workers demand supplies: 10 kilos of rice, multiple kilos of pork, electric fans, rice cookers, potato peelers “kasi mahirap magtalop ng patatas,” and cartons of cigarettes. </p><p>“I definitely drew the line at that,” Amba Mayo said.  </p><p>Two days later, they’re back asking for the same amounts. When embassy staff question how they consumed everything so quickly, the response is pure entitlement: “It’s our money anyway, paid for by our taxes.” </p><p>This is the moral rot we’re dealing with. Even in rescue, they cannot see themselves as anything other than consumers owed a debt. </p><div><br/></div><div><strong>Filipinos Building Their Own Hell</strong> </div><p>The most damning revelation from my sources: Filipinos aren’t just working in scam farms anymore—they’re building their own. Former POGO employees are setting up their own operations. They’ve learned the playbook. They understand the technology. They know how to recruit other desperate Filipinos through the same Facebook ads that lured them. </p><div><br/></div><div><strong>The Question Nobody Wants to Answer</strong> </div><p>Have we become a nation where money is God?</p><p>I’ve spent decades teaching financial literacy across this country—from weaving communities in Mati to single mothers in Tondo. My core belief has always been that financial empowerment is a fundamental human right, because when Filipinos are worried about their next meal, they sell their vote. </p><p>But what happens when we’ve perverted that principle? When we’ve decided that money justifies any means—torture, fraud, destroying the lives of vulnerable people across the globe?</p><p>The US Treasury Department seized nearly $15 billion in Bitcoin from these operations. American citizens lost over $10 billion to Southeast Asian scam centers in 2024 alone. The UN estimates that hundreds of thousands of people—including at least 120,000 in Myanmar and 100,000 in Cambodia—are trapped in forced labor conditions running these scams. </p><p>And Filipinos are increasingly on both sides of that equation. </p><div><br/></div><div><strong>Where Is the Value of Honest Labor? </strong></div><p>My years covering boardrooms taught me that the best family businesses succeed across generations because they value honest work over quick riches.</p><p>The Ng family built their empire by packing Rebisco biscuits after school until their fingers were sore. Edgar Saavedra obsesses over good hair and CrossFit, but he built Megawide through sweat, not scams. These are the Filipino business stories I’m proud to tell.</p><p>But how do I reconcile that pride with the knowledge that thousands of young Filipinos have decided that scamming vulnerable foreigners is just another form of “diskarte”? </p><div><br/></div><div><strong>The Reckoning Nobody Wants</strong> </div><p>Strong enforcement is important but isn’t the answer. You can’t arrest your way out of a values crisis.</p><p>The POGOs are gone from Philippine soil, but the damage remains. We exported the problem, and in doing so, we’ve exported our youth, our values, and—most tragically—our capacity for shame. </p><p>Until next week, keep your ears open and your conscience clearer.</p><div><em>Boardroom Tea comes out every Wednesday</em></div>

<p>The criminal syndicates didn’t disappear—they simply packed up their torture tools and moved to Cambodia, Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, and now even Pakistan.</p>

The criminal syndicates didn’t disappear—they simply packed up their torture tools and moved to Cambodia, Myanmar, Thailand, Laos, and now even Pakistan.