In early 2022, residents of Bamban, a town north of Manila in the Philippines, gathered for a mayoral campaign rally for a young woman named Alice Leal Guo. Supporters, dressed in pink – their candidate's favorite color – eagerly awaited her arrival, hopeful for a brighter future under her leadership.
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03-30, 2025Then, the deep thrum of helicopter rotors drew cheers from the crowd. Guo, seated in the cockpit, wearing a pink shirt and pilot's headset, smiled and waved to her supporters. As the helicopter landed, the crowd erupted in chants of "Guo! Guo!" The then 31-year-old Guo had won a following in the town with promises of generous subsidies and economic development, coupled with her signature loud and upbeat tone, ultimately becoming the town's first female mayor, marking a significant milestone for the community.
However, few could have predicted that less than three years later, Guo would be embroiled in controversy, facing human trafficking charges and accusations of being a Chinese spy. Her downfall began with a police raid that uncovered a large-scale scam operation running behind her office. As authorities dug deeper, and Guo struggled to answer simple questions about her past, a perplexing question emerged: Who exactly is Alice Leal Guo? This question has become central to the ongoing investigation and public scrutiny.
Guo claims she transitioned into local politics from pig farming, having run her family's commercial piggery for years. Such a career shift requires significant capital – later, when asked about her campaign finances, Guo said friends and acquaintances from the pig farming industry had supported her mayoral run. Guo's rising star was abruptly halted by the discovery of the scam operation just minutes from the municipal hall offices, raising questions about her knowledge and involvement.
But Guo also had connections to a number of wealthy Chinese businessmen. Little is known about them, but some have since been convicted of money laundering and now face human trafficking charges alongside Guo. Her campaign focused on her sunny image. On stage at one event, Guo told her audience: "For our team, the first rule is: Do no harm! No hurting is allowed, we should spread love, love, love!" This message resonated with many voters at the time, who saw her as a positive force for change.
In hindsight, those pleasant platitudes would take on an ironic tinge as authorities uncovered the alleged harm and suffering that was inflicted under Guo's watch. But after taking office in June 2022, she brought that young, vibrant energy from the campaign trail to Bamban's municipal hall, painting it pink and adorning the building's exterior with flowers. The Bamban municipal hall under Mayor Guo's tenure became a symbol of her vision for the town.
"Guo is beautiful, she is kind, she is helpful to other women," says Priscilla May Aban, 31, who runs a vegetable stall in town. She told the BBC she voted for Guo precisely because she was a woman, adding that as mayor, Guo arranged cleaning jobs for women in town. According to the BBC's conversations with several Bamban residents, Guo was widely regarded as a caring and compassionate leader. Miah Mejia, the daughter of one of Guo's political allies, claimed she provided free scholarships for every local family. Another interviewee told us he didn't receive a college scholarship but did receive cash assistance for school fees, highlighting the perceived benefits of her administration.
Francisco Flores, 75, said with emotion: "She helped a lot of poor people in Bamban, giving them medicine, and the way she treated people, you would never see a problem." He proudly mentioned the arrival of McDonald's and the Filipino fast-food chain Jollibee during Guo's term. Miah (left) and Francisco (right) pose with Guo's mayoral campaign poster, showcasing the support she garnered from various segments of the community.
Online, social media accounts supporting Guo portrayed her as a progressive young mayor presiding over a pink wonderland of parades, carabao races and concerts. However, a year and a half into her mayorship, this carefully constructed image began to unravel, revealing a more complex and potentially troubling reality.
In February 2024, Philippine police received a report that a Vietnamese national had escaped from captivity at Zun Yuan Technology Incorporated, which operated inside a walled compound in Bamban. On the night of March 12, police officers and soldiers gathered nearby to plan a raid on the site, which was located just a minute's walk from Guo's office at the municipal hall. Police Major Marvin de la Paz of the Presidential Anti-Organized Crime Commission (PAOCC) told the BBC that around midnight, a police informant sent word that people were leaving the compound on buses. Suspecting their raid had been compromised, Mr. de la Paz and his colleagues rushed to the compound. On the road, they saw people running in the opposite direction, and some officers in the convoy had to break off to chase them. When they arrived at the site, they discovered one of the largest scam hubs the Philippines had ever seen, comprising 36 buildings and covering nearly 20 acres, a scale that shocked even seasoned law enforcement officials.
"We were surprised," Mr. de la Paz said, "It was the first time we saw such a grand entrance (to a scam hub)… Somehow, you feel small being inside that compound." It was later discovered that the compound had been built on land previously owned by Guo – and that, as mayor, she had issued a business license to Zun Yuan. Her name also appeared on the site's electricity bills. Guo's lawyer did not respond to the BBC's request for comment, leaving many questions about her involvement unanswered.
The largest building in the compound housed a liquor store, tea house and nightclub. Zun Yuan was allegedly an online gambling and entertainment company with a Philippine Offshore Gaming Operator (Pogo) license – a certification that previously allowed such entities to operate legally in the Philippines. In 2017, then-President Rodrigo Duterte relaxed gambling regulations, leading to a surge in Pogo-driven business. But many scam syndicates also found Pogo licenses could be used to mask their criminal activities – PAOCC told the BBC they found evidence that Zun Yuan was running "pig butchering" scams out of its offices in the compound, highlighting the dark side of the industry.
Pig butchering is a scam in which fraudsters, posing as lovers or potential business partners, take time to build trust with their victims before tricking them into investing money in fraudulent schemes. Earlier this month, the BBC, led by PAOCC officials, toured the compound, where, in a derelict staff dormitory, they found training scripts on how to scam targets. "I want to create my own financial empire," one script character – a female cryptocurrency expert at an international bank – tells her target, before flattering him and encouraging him to share his dreams. She is told to make her target wait while pretending to "profit from the trade" – only to announce moments later that she has made a fortune. She then asks if he knows how to trade himself, setting him up for an imminent transfer of funds. This is just one of the many ways these compounds scam billions of dollars around the world. They are often run by Chinese organized crime groups throughout Southeast Asia, staffed by willing workers and human trafficking victims forced to perpetrate the scams.
According to de la Paz, he and his colleagues found more than 300 foreign nationals at the Bamban compound, many of whom were working there against their will. Punishments for workers who disobeyed or underperformed ranged from beatings to the mundane: the BBC was shown a notebook from the compound in which one worker had copied the phrase "I will complete my target tomorrow" hundreds of times in Chinese. Surrounded by barbed wire fences, the workers' area was its own self-sufficient world, with basketball courts, supermarkets and restaurants. Staff lived in rooms of six, each with a balcony equipped with a toilet and shower. Their bosses, de la Paz said, lived in a separate, gated area, where he showed the BBC a villa, showcasing the stark contrast between the living conditions of the workers and their superiors.
A marble-clad living room featured a high-end entertainment system, security monitors and ornate hardwood furniture. Behind the house was a swimming pool, next to a staircase leading to a basement, which was said to be an escape tunnel, now flooded with water. A basketball court seen from one of the dormitory buildings and… the luxurious interior of one of the villas. By the time security forces raided the Bamban compound on the night of March 12, 2024, some of those scam bosses had already escaped capture. But the raid marked a shift in the political climate, signaling a crackdown on illegal activities.
In June 2022, just as Guo was being sworn in as mayor, Rodrigo Duterte's presidency came to an end. His successor, Ferdinand Marcos Jr., soon began facing calls to ban Pogo operations. While Pogo businesses brought in millions of dollars in revenue, many in Philippine society raised alarms about the criminal activities that often lurked beneath the surface. Their biggest clients were wealthy Chinese, raising concerns about foreign influence, as, unlike his predecessor, Marcos was engaging with Washington instead of Beijing. When the raid in Bamban occurred, it exposed a dark underbelly of the Philippines – and Guo's two worlds – the pink office where she sought a political career and the scam compound hinting at far darker ambitions – collapsing into each other, creating a scandal that has captivated the nation.
It wasn't until last May that Guo became a relatively well-known figure in the Philippines, when she was summoned to the Senate to explain her links to the scam compound. Almost overnight, she became a meme. When she told senators she grew up on a family farm, Filipinos quickly quipped that she was too glamorous for the countryside. She became notorious for her contradictory, vague comments and claims of forgetting basic details about her early life, leading social media to dub her "Amnesia Girl." Guo said she had a secluded childhood, the child of a Chinese father and a Filipino mother – but she couldn't remember where her family's home in the Philippines was. At one point, a senator told her: "Mayor, please show a little more candor than what you are currently showing when answering some important questions." Her inability to provide clear answers further fueled suspicions about her background and motives.
She told skeptical senators that she had sold her stake in the land before becoming mayor, and that issuing a business license to Zun Yuan was merely an administrative measure. During the hearings, suspicions were heightened when a court in Singapore convicted two of Guo's former Chinese business partners in the Philippines of money laundering. Then, last July, despite the high level of public attention on her case, Guo managed to breach travel restrictions imposed on her and flee to Indonesia. Months later, she was rearrested and returned to the Philippines. Guo has appeared before senators multiple times, answering questions about her links to the scam compound, but her explanations have often been met with skepticism and further scrutiny.
Also in July, Philippine investigators made a breakthrough. Guo's fingerprints matched those in the file of a Chinese girl, Guo Hua Ping, who had come to the Philippines with her mother, also Chinese, in the early 2000s. This revelation sparked another line of inquiry in the Senate: that Guo might be a spy, exercising influence or gathering intelligence for the Chinese government. The idea quickly spread among the viewing public, dominating public discussion of the case, raising serious concerns about national security.
Jaye Bekema, a senior official on the staff of Senator Risa Hontiveros – one of the senators investigating potential links between scam syndicates and Chinese intelligence – said the possibility of Guo being a spy was worth investigating. "I think there should be some clear definitions of what espionage means," Ms. Bekema said, while stressing there was no hard evidence to suggest Guo was a spy. "I'm more inclined to believe that she didn't plan to be a spy, but that she was picked up (by the Chinese government) to be one because of her criminal relations and because of her influence in local politics and local government." This perspective suggests that Guo's connections and position may have made her a valuable asset for foreign intelligence operations.
In many ways, Guo has become a victim of her own success. Her choice of profession and the spotlight she worked to attract meant that when Sino-Philippine relations under Marcos deteriorated, she was fully exposed to public scrutiny. As political rhetoric escalated and tensions between the two countries spiraled, particularly over the South China Sea, the young mayor found herself at the crossroads of espionage accusations, caught in the crossfire of geopolitical tensions.
However, others are more skeptical of the accusation. Teresita Ang See, a civic leader in the Filipino-Chinese community, said the Chinese government and Guo would make strange bedfellows. "What can she spy on in a place like (Bamban)? It's located in central Luzon, not near any sensitive installations. Why use her? She's very visible, she flaunts her lifestyle. The last person you would use as a spy is someone like Guo," Ms. Ang See said, questioning the logic behind the espionage claims.
But those leading the questioning of Guo, such as Senator Sherwin Gatchalian, say the situation is more complex than that. "Transnational criminals operating in the area know how to utilize… what I call local talents to penetrate our society, whether through politics or business," he explained. Regardless, Guo's case has exposed the vulnerability of the Philippine state to corruption and collusion by criminal syndicates that abuse Pogo licenses, highlighting the need for stronger regulatory oversight and enforcement.
In mid-2024, President Marcos announced a total ban on all Pogos, citing their widespread abuse by organized crime. Gatchalian said the investigation into Guo helped to drive that change. "So there was a groundswell of people really calling for a ban," he told the BBC. "That's the reason why the president formally banned Pogos." Since then, Philippine police have raided numerous scam hubs across the country. But Mr. de la Paz said that, given the growing influence of these groups, there are concerns that leaks within security forces and government agencies are allowing criminals to evade capture. Ms. Bekema said she was certain some candidates in the upcoming national elections were still being funded by Pogo money, while Ms. Ang See said active-duty police officers have been found to be working for criminal syndicates, indicating the deep-seated nature of the problem.
In Bamban, people don't seem too worried about the issue of national infiltration. The streets are adorned with brightly colored campaign posters in preparation for upcoming municipal elections. The municipal hall has been repainted white, and the flowers have been removed. Guo is currently on trial in six separate cases, potentially facing decades in prison, and has been barred from running for public office again. She has pleaded not guilty to the human trafficking charges. However, many still cherish memories of their embattled former mayor, remembering her contributions to the community.
One of those currently running for Bamban councilor is Miah Mejia's father, Fortunato, 69, who also ran in 2022 as a member of Guo's party, though he lost. He even appeared in one of her promotional videos at the time. He said the people of Bamban took a gamble by electing Guo, but that she had good relations with Chinese investors and delivered on all her promises to the townspeople. He was also dismissive of the evidence presented by the Senate that Guo was not Filipino. "They keep showing that, but we still don't believe it because we don't care if she's Filipino or not," he said. "What matters is whether she helped us." Mr. Mejia insisted the Guo he knew would not be involved in human trafficking. "She would never do something like that," he said emphatically. "I know she has a heart. She is God-fearing." This unwavering support from some residents highlights the complexities of the case and the deep divisions within the community.
