In condemnation of the majority’s insistence to divide the house for a motion that seeks to allow online participation and voting of senators, the minority bloc on May 26 walked out of the session hall—effectively collapsing the quorum and forcing adjournment.

For decades, the Senate has operated under supermajorities. It now finds itself in unfamiliar territory as the minority bloc stands nearly on equal numerical footing with the majority, 13 against the minority’s 11. Recent developments further expose the majority’s tenuous grip on power: they can only muster 11 warm bodies due to the prolonged absence of Sen. Bato Dela Rosa and the fresh arrest of Sen. Jinggoy Estrada. Save for his latest attendance that was crucial for securing the votes to permit the recent leadership shakeup and a looming warrant of arrest from the International Criminal Court, Dela Rosa is not expected to appear before the Senate anytime soon. Whereas, Estrada is currently in detention following an arrest warrant for plunder and graft charges connected to the flood control corruption scandal.

While evidently polarizing, such a political opening may prove useful, especially to progressive lawmakers in the opposition, in capitalizing on the opportunity to assert meaningful leverage in the Senate. Without a compelling number to constitute a quorum, the minority can, as it has done, simply disrupt the conduct of sessions when it deems necessary.

This crisis of political establishment further deepens when placed alongside the mounting controversies and issues hounding the country and even the Senate majority itself. A recent report by the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism found that of the 11 senators aligned with the majority bloc facing unresolved or ongoing investigations, six are involved in the flood control probes. That senators hounded by corruption allegations continue to dominate the legislative agenda reveals how deeply compromised the institution has become.

Among the most controversial is the alleged involvement of Sens. Joel Villanueva and Jinggoy Estrada in the anomalous flood control projects now under scrutiny by the Office of the Ombudsman, with Estrada already surrendering following the plunder charges filed before the Sandiganbayan. Even the latest membership of the Blue Ribbon Committee, the investigative arm of the Senate for alleged corruption and misconduct by government officials, are composed of solons who refuse to sign the partial flood control report of the committee previously headed by Sen. Ping Lacson despite the mounting evidence against those implicated.

The Senate, supposedly a chamber of accountability and democratic deliberation, has increasingly become an arena for elite preservation and political maneuvering.

Urgent national concerns—wage stagnation, systemic corruption, and inflation—have been lodged in the backseat to make way for such theatrics between political factions. The leadership dispute, too, has delayed the completion of members of each of the committees. Among those affected by the postponements were hearings involving farmers from various communities, who, despite it being harvest season, traveled to speak on agricultural setbacks caused by rising fuel, fertilizer, and transportation costs.

Yet within this deadlock lies an unusual contradiction: the minority now possesses real leverage.

This was evident during the minority’s walkout in protest of what it viewed as the majority railroading an amendment in the Senate rules. Sen. Erwin Tulfo even implied that such a move was to accommodate the expected absences of some lawmakers with active investigation cases. More so, it was a desperate scramble for power by the majority to ensure their bloc constitutes a quorum regardless of the minority’s presence, with Dela Rosa likely their missing piece, and now also Estrada.

In previous Senates, such a move would have amounted to little more than a symbolic act of dissent. Today, it is enough to paralyze the upper chamber’s order of business.

For perhaps the first time in years, the minority possess the numerical capacity to challenge the dominance of the ruling bloc. This leverage matters because the current Senate deadlock will shape the trajectory of major national issues like the investigations into corruption and misuse of public funds and broader efforts to advance socioeconomic reforms such as wage increases, agricultural support, and cost-of-living interventions.

But political will, above all, will be the test for progressive lawmakers like Sens. Kiko Pangilinan, Bam Aquino, and Risa Hontiveros as a polarized Senate can also do so much for genuine democratic transformation. In reality, competing factions, political survival, dynastic interests, and tactical alliances still shape the legislative branch of the government.

Nonetheless, such conditions present opportunities for the minority to maximize its leverage and obtain greater proportional representation in Senate committees and obstruct attempts to railroad decisions that shield political allies from accountability.

In this polarized chamber, the minority must take up the mantle not by sitting idly as rival factions attempt to neutralize one another, but by intensifying public demands for a Senate that genuinely serves the interests of the Filipino people. ◆

Aaminin kong binalot ako ng takot noong Abril na nasa San Jose, Occidental Mindoro ako habang inuulat ang kalagayan ni Charlize “Ceeka” Garzon isang linggo makalipas ang kaniyang pagkakaaresto. Batid ng kasama ko sa Kulê, mga kaibigan, at mga propesor tuwing binabalitaan ko sila kung paano ako naaligaga sa lantarang paniniktik at panghaharas ng estado sa municipal plaza habang naghihintay ng kaganapan kay Ceeka.

Ngunit, lampas sa mga kalsada ng liwasang pambayan, patuloy pa rin ang pagmamatyag ng mga elemento ng estado: nakamotorsiklo, balot ang mga mukha habang kinukunan ng larawan ang aming tinutuluyan. Noong ako at ang kasama ko na ang naitalagang magbantay, hindi sapat ang makapal na jacket upang ibsan ang panlalamig ko sa kaba tuwing nakakikita ng dumaraang motor na may kahina-hinalang galaw kahit hanggang madaling-araw.

Sa lipunang dominado ng iilang makapangyarihang ganid sa pansariling interes, gagawin ng estado ang lahat upang patahimikin ang sinumang mangangahas na maglantad ng kabulukan nito.

Unti-unting napawi ang aking takot nang makausap ko si Teacher Mayla Garzon, ina ni Ceeka. Sa aming kuwentuhan, mas nakilala ko si Ceeka bilang isang anak na ginamit ang talino at kakayahan upang pagsilbihan ang bayan. Hindi kailanman sumagi sa isip ni Teacher Mayla na maging aktibista, kaya ang paninindigan niyang mapalaya ang anak, sa kabila ng mga hamon, ang pinanghugutan ko ng lakas ng loob upang magpatuloy sa kabila ng lahat.

Isa lamang si Ceeka sa 518 aktibistang iligal na inaresto at ikinulong dahil sa mga gawa-gawang kaso mula nang maupo si Marcos Jr. Bunga ito ng pagpili niya sa buhay na malayo sa kaginhawaan: ang pagtungo sa kanayunan, pakikipamuhay, at pag-aaral sa kultura ng mga katutubong Mangyan.

Gaya ni Ceeka, pinaratangan din ng militar na miyembro ng New People’s Army ang siyam na sibilyan sa 19 na pinaslang nito noong Abril 19 sa Toboso, Negros Occidental. Hindi naging ligtas, maging ang dignidad ng mga biktimang tulad nina UP Diliman student councilor Alyssa Alano, UP Open University student-peasant organizer Maureen Santuyo, at community journalist RJ Ledesma, na tumungo lamang sa komunidad ng mga pesante upang alamin ang kanilang tunay na kalagayan.

Aaminin kong nanumbalik ang aking takot nang mabalitaan ang sinapit ni RJ sa kamay ng estado, at sa patuloy na kinahaharap ng marami pang mga community journalist sa bansa, gaya ni Frenchie Mae Cumpio na nakakulong pa rin hanggang ngayon dulot ng katakatang kaso ng terorismo.

Sino man sa atin—mga mamamahayag, aktibista, o kahit ordinaryong mamamayan na tumutungo sa mga marhinalisadong pamayanan—ay maaaring gantihan ng estado anumang oras dahil lamang sa ating ipinaglalaban. Ngunit, sa panahong mismong estado ang nagpapalaganap ng matinding kasinungalingan, kagyat ang kahingian upang higitan ang paninindigan.

May pangamba pa rin ako sa tuwing nag-uulat ako sa mga paglabag ng estado sa karapatang pantao. Subalit, sa kabila nito, nararapat kong ipagpatuloy ang aking tungkulin tungo sa mas makatarungang lipunan, kasama ang mga kapwa ko mamamahayag at iskolar ng bayan. ◆

Unang nailathala sa isyu ng Kulê noong Mayo 20, 2026.

Where colors dull, lasting modes of participation lull.

For another season, UP ALYANSA stands as the lone political party to field candidates in the University Student Council elections. In the 2024 regular elections, a year after STAND UP stopped participating and KAISA remained out of commission, the USC race was the least competitive since at least 2000. Until today, the number of those gunning for seats is fewer than when the polls were still a colorful three-way contest.

Although last year’s regular elections signified breakthroughs in terms of turnout and seats filled compared to the polls that immediately preceded them, a threat continues to hound electoral exercises: There is no certainty that such a momentum will be maintained, especially given how quickly the political landscape in the university can ebb after it flows. Reviving the robust political party system and strengthening current formations is crucial in accelerating the surge of sustained student engagement.

The vacuum in candidacy erodes representation and the electoral culture in the university. While various local college councils are overburdened due to the number of representatives that is incommensurate with the count of people they serve, some do not even have a single candidate running. As a result, those units declared that they will not participate in the regular cycle, leaving no room for students to engage.

Changing dynamics, demographics, and interests serve as formidable forces that preclude students’ attempts to step up and take on the mantle of student leadership.

But such a problem can be thwarted by robust political parties that have the traditions, machinery, interests, and skills to develop new members to serve on the council. They lower barriers to entry, possess resources that can help them tap into different student interests, and serve as the main reservoirs of capacitated student-leaders.

Colleges with strong political parties, such as the College of Social Sciences and Philosophy, are able to maintain competitive races despite diverging trends at the university level. Abstention is also barely a problem for them. This is not to say they do not encounter their own candidacy problems and that this consistently applies to all colleges. But they can mitigate such issues because there is sustained engagement from parties whose primary function is to stimulate polls and win campaigns.

Yet beyond this, party-backed candidates are also the ones who forward programmatic lines that raise the stakes and provide venues for accountability.

The ideological underpinnings of parties prime students to participate in an electoral system that values principled platforms and stances over mere personalities. In doing so, they generate discourse that heightens the weight of participation and demands more deliberate political engagement.

On the other hand, when stances and programs are diluted and merely enmeshed without ideological distinctions, the stakes for voting participation dip. Such arrangements may disillusion voters who see no meaningful difference among choices and lead them to believe that their participation—or lack thereof—would hardly make any change.

Yet when principled discussions among competing parties proliferate, electoral exercises also provide feedback loops for the parties involved, opening accountability mechanisms that are typically inaccessible outside these periods. This is what allowed students to challenge parties on their past stances regarding free tuition, the K to 12 program, abstention in university elections, and parties’ handling of sexual harassment cases.

This is possible because institutional continuity is expected, unlike in one-time coalitions or alliances that may wane as quickly as they emerge. So while there is no dispute that some of these are able to mobilize leaders with their own set of principled programs that could draw a considerable turnout, the key criterion for meaningful and enduring engagement is severed.

Surely, political parties are not a silver bullet to the larger problems that bedevil political engagement. Yet they are better positioned to address such issues because of their continuous institutional character as ideological forces that can shape the electoral agenda, sharpen discourse, and engage with students. As such, leaders, contending progressive forces, and even university officials must create the conditions conducive to the renaissance of political parties.

This must begin with swift reckoning regarding long-lagging accountability measures for parties’ harassment cases. Inactive parties should also take the work of rebuilding seriously, drawing help from their active chapters or associated formations if needed. Even university officials and local student affairs offices may provide the needed active, material support. And if ideological rifts are already irreconcilable, students must not fear the prospect of establishing more robust party alliances while still answering to cases in past affiliations.

But mere revival is insufficient. Existing ones, from college to university levels, can only sustain themselves if they refuse stagnation by listening to the signals of their electoral outcomes. This demands responsiveness and expansive involvement in student life beyond the cyclical conduct of polls.

For where colors sustain vibrancy, participation may proceed persistently. ◆

First published in the May 20, 2026 print edition of the Collegian.

Photography editor AJ Dela Cruz from the College of Social Sciences and Philosophy will lead the Collegian in its 104th year. Dela Cruz bested seven others who took this year’s editorial examination.

The Board of Judges, chaired by College of Media and Communication Dean Diosa Labiste, asked the eight examinees to write an editorial about the topic “Philippine Collegian and Negros 19.” ◆

Without proper legal and social systems to protect them, it becomes an imperative for workers to collectively struggle for their rights.

When the Kowloon House West chapter of GLOWHRAIN - Kilusang Mayo Uno successfully secured a P20 wage increase and benefits following their six-day strike, it was supposed to serve as both a tale of hope for laborers and a warning for corporations. However, just days after the signing of the memorandum of agreement, Kowloon announced the premature closure of the restaurant and termination of more than 70 staff in clear violation of the agreement’s non-retaliatory clause.

The Kowloon case, however, is not isolated. Rather, it serves as glaring evidence that Philippine labor policies are not designed to protect workers. Many provisions in the labor code, for instance, legitimize worker exploitation, including Articles 280 and 281, which allow project-based, fixed-term, seasonal, and probationary employment, thus preventing security of tenure and regularization for workers. The system of contractualization is further legalized by other laws, such as the Herrera Law, which empowers the Department of Labor and Employment to issue orders that promote hiring of non-regular workers.

When unions exercise their right to strike, the DOLE Secretary wields the power to deploy state forces to stop them, through the issuance of an assumption of jurisdiction order—a legal justification exploited by the state that ultimately led to the Hacienda Luisita massacre.

In fact, beyond complicity with corporations violating workers’ rights, it can be argued that the state is itself one of the biggest anti-worker institutions in the Philippines. A Civil Service Commission report said that in 2025, over 900,000 workers, or about a third of the government’s workforce, did not have security of tenure.

This collusion between the government and corporations is not coincidental; it is by design in a social order built upon exploited labor while protecting the interests of a few. This pretext, thus, underscores why workers need unions. In a system where state and capital team up for profit and power, the only viable recourse for workers is to organize and struggle against oppressive systems and policies which have never served their interests.

Indeed, the rights that workers enjoy today are written with the blood of those who previously fought for them. Labor unions have historically been at the forefront of strikes against corporations and government administrations that turn a blind eye to the workers’ unjust living and working conditions. Union Obrera Democratica birthed militant unionism in the Philippines when it fought against the United States imperialist aggression and organized the first Mayo Uno commemoration in May 1903. One of its biggest victories was the regulated eight-hour daily work hours.

But despite wins of the labor movement, the state viciously repeats the cycle of worker exploitation, unjust termination, and low wages. Unions have constantly insisted, for example, for a living wage and not a minimum wage, which is continually disregarded by the government. The average nominal minimum wage across all regions is P487, merely 40% of P1,225, the estimated wage needed to meet a family of five’s basic needs, according to IBON Foundation. This gap is proof of how the state clearly violates the workers’ constitutional right to a living wage, which is the actual cost required for a worker to live decently—different from the minimum wage that is merely the minimum amount of remuneration that an employer is required to pay.

This inadequate pay is not nearly enough to compensate for the long working hours, exacerbated by the implemented four-day workweek, and insufficient social security and protection, with the Philippines’ pension system ranking the third worst in the world.

And when workers and unions seek redress for these harsh conditions through organizing, they are paid back with aggression by the state. The 2023 International Labor Organization High-Level Tripartite Mission documented a total of 360 cases of violations of Freedom of Association since 2019, while Karapatan noted 25 unionists and labor leaders arrested under the Duterte and Marcos Jr. regimes, with 22 still behind bars.

The state’s past and present records, instances like the Hacienda Luisita massacre where protesting laborers were killed, as well as the volume of contractual public employees, underscore the anti-labor character of the Philippine government. With these accounts, it is not surprising that the Philippines was named one of the 10 worst countries in the world for working people by the International Trade Union Confederation for the eighth consecutive year.

Oppressed by these prevailing ruthless conditions, the case of Kowloon House is thus a testament to the irreconcilable and antagonistic relations between labor and capital.

And part of the movement of dismantling the power imbalance between the two forces is registering the calls forwarded by trade unions in the best interest of all laborers. It is high time to enshrine the 15-point labor agenda, demanding the criminalization of red-tagging for a genuine freedom of association, a security of tenure law that ends all forms of contractualization, a mandated wealth tax on the rich, and a national industry policy.

Breaking the cycle of an inhumane capitalist system would not take one hand. Rather, it would take multiple arms linked together for the laborers to reap the long-overdue benefits of their hard work. ◆

First published in the May 1, 2026 print issue of the Collegian

Hindi humihinto ang oras para sa tipikal na manggagawang Pilipino na buong araw nagtatrabaho. Bawat segundo ay may katumbas na sentimo, kaya maging ang simpleng pahinga ay nagiging luho. Dahil dito, hindi na bago makakita ng manggagawang kumakapit sa paninigarilyo.

Kasabay ng mabigat na trabaho, patuloy ang pagkahumaling ng mga manggagawa sa kemikal na taglay ng sigarilyo. Sa bawat hithit, unti-unti silang dumedepende sa nikotina, na nakaaapekto sa kanilang kabuoang kalusugan. Sa katunayan, mas mataas ang bilang ng mga gumagamit ng sigarilyo mula sa mababang uri kumpara sa matataas, ayon sa sarbey ng Global Adult Tobacco Survey Philippines noong 2021.

Bunsod ng kakulangan sa oras at maayos na pahinga, ang dapat sanang lunch break ay kadalasang nauuwi sa “yosi break” dahil mas pinipili ng ilan ang sigarilyo bilang mabilis na pamawi ng pagod at pantawid-gutom, dahil sa taglay nitong appetite suppressant at antidepressant properties. Sa pagnanais na makaraos sa hirap ng buhay araw-araw, nauuwi sa paulit-ulit na paggamit ng sigarilyo ang mga manggagawa na nagreresulta sa adiksyon. Marami sa kanila ang patuloy na naninigarilyo, hindi lamang dahil sa personal na kagustuhan, kundi dahil hinahanap-hanap na rin ito ng kanilang katawan.

Ngunit higit pa sa pagiging bisyo, ang paninigarilyo ay manipestasyon ng mas malalim na krisis. Sinasalamin nito ang kakulangan ng sapat na pahinga at mababang sahod.

Bilang tugon sa lumalalang isyu, ipinatupad ang Tobacco Regulation Act of 2003 na nagbabawal sa paninigarilyo sa mga pampublikong lugar at sa anumang promosyon nito. Gayunpaman, hindi pa rin ito lubos na naisasakatuparan dahil nakadepende ang implementasyon nito sa lokal na pamahalaan alinsunod sa Local Government Code of 1991. Dahil dito, iba-iba ang antas ng implementasyon ng panukalang ito sa iba-ibang lokalidad. Sa kasalukuyan, isa ang Quezon City sa mga lungsod na aktibong nagsusulong ng smoke-free ordinance na may parusang multa o community service.

Ipinatupad din noong 2012 ang Sin Tax Law na layong magpababa ng konsumo ng sigarilyo sa pamamagitan ng pagtaas ng presyo, habang ang nakokolektang buwis ay inilaan para sa Universal Health Care Act. Sa ganitong paraan, nababawasan dapat ang bilang ng mga naninigarilyo.

Ngunit dahil mas mataas ang bilang ng mga gumagamit ng sigarilyo mula sa mababang uri, sila rin ang direktang naaapektuhan ng pagtaas ng presyo nito. Mas bumibigat ang pasaning dulot ng paninigarilyo sa mga mas mahihirap na sektor ng lipunan kumpara sa mga mayayaman at nasa middle class na may kakayahang bitbitin ang pagtaas ng presyo o sa kabuoan, humanap ng ibang coping mechanism.

Patuloy nitong pinarurusahan ang bulsa ng isang manggagawang sapat lang ang kinikita para sa isang araw. Sa ganitong paraan, hindi lang nagsisilbing babala ang buwis kundi kabawasan sa perang dapat sana ay naiuuwi niya sa kaniyang pamilya.

Dito lumalabas ang problema sa pagpapatupad ng mga polisiya ng pamahalaan. Sapagkat kahit may umiiral na mga batas, nananatiling nakasentro ang mga ito sa regulasyon ng bisyo sa halip na tugunan ang mas malalim na mga problema.

Habang nakatutulong ang kita mula sa buwis sa pagpapalawak ng mga programang tumutugon sa adiksiyon, hindi pa rin ito ganap na nararamdaman ng lahat. Nararapat na gawing mas episyente ang paggamit ng pondo sa pagtataguyod ng mas marami pang libreng nationwide smoking cessation services at workplace-based mental health programs.

Gayundin, mahalaga rin ang pagpapabuti ng kondisyon sa trabaho, kabilang ang regulated working hours, mandatory rest breaks, at makatarungang taas-sahod.

Kaya nananatiling mas abot-kamay pa ang sigarilyo kaysa sa mga programa ng gobyerno na dapat sana ay naglulunsad ng mga programang nagpapabuti ng kalusugan ng mga manggagawa. Kahit nasa kanila pa rin ang desisyon kung maninigarilyo o hindi, malinaw na ang mahihirap na kondisyon sa trabaho ang isa sa mga pangunahing dahilan na nagtulak sa kanila na gawin ito.

Hindi sapat ang pagtaas ng presyo ng sigarilyo. Higit na kailangan ang kongkretong reporma sa kondisyon ng paggawa at mas malawak na suporta para sa mga manggagawa, upang hindi na nila iasa sa sigarilyo ang pagtakas sa mabigat na realidad ng kanilang trabaho. ◆

Unang nailathala sa isyu ng Kulê noong Mayo 1, 2026.

Bunsod ng nananatiling mga suliranin sa kawalan ng oportunidad sa trabaho at mababang pasahod, hindi nakalalaya ang mga maralita sa itinuturing nilang pag-asa: ang mga tulong pinansiyal na programa.

Bukod sa malaon nang hindi masolusyonang kahirapan, dagdag pasanin pa ngayon ang krisis sa kagyat na pagtaas ng presyo ng langis, bilihin, at kuryente. Upang maibsan ang pasanin nito sa mga maralita, sa bisa ng Expanded Lifeline Rate Law, maaari nang maging libre ang kuryente para sa mga kuwalipikadong benepisyaryo ng Pantawid Pamilyang Pilipino Program o 4Ps na kumokonsumo nito nang hindi hihigit sa 50 kilowatts per hour.

Pangunahing layunin ng 4Ps na ibsan ang kahirapan at tiyakin ang seguridad sa kalusugan at edukasyon, partikular sa kabataan, sa pamamagitan ng mga conditional cash transfer. Nasa P113 bilyon ang pondong nakalaan sa 4Ps ngayong 2026, batay sa badyet ng Department of Social Welfare and Development.

Ngunit tahasang kinokondena ng mga mamumuwis, na pangunahing pumapasan sa pagpopondo ng Lifeline Rate, ang programang pinaglalaanan ng buwis na kanilang binabayaran. Noon pa man, bukod dito, kasama sa binabayarang kuryente ang senior citizen subsidy at iba pang mga dagdag na bayarin, na dinadaing din ngayon ng mga mamumuwis.

Buhat nito, higit na napipihit ang kanilang galit sa mga benepisyaryo ng 4Ps na tunay na nangangailangan ng tulong pinansiyal. Iginigiit ng mga diskurso na walang patutunguhan ang buwis ng taumbayan sa mga ganitong uri ng alokasyon. Ngunit sa una pa lamang, bahagi na ito ng mga pampublikong programang nakatuon para sa kapakanan ng mamamayan, partikular sa mga maralita.

Nariyan ang mga nang-uuyam na komentong “palamunin” lamang sila at hindi marunong tumayo sa sariling mga paa. Ngunit mapanghamak ang mga ganitong pagtingin gayong binubura nito ang katotohanang marami pa ring Pilipino ang nananatiling sadlak sa kahirapan—isa sa mga rason kung bakit natutulak silang maging bahagi ng mga programang ayuda, tulad ng 4Ps.

Taliwas sa naratibong pilit idinidildil ng karamihan, hindi tamad ang mga maralita. Dito, mayroong pagkukulong sa huwad na ideyang tinuturuan ng mga tulong pinansyal na programa ang mahihirap na umasa na lamang sa ibinibigay na tulong ng pamahalaan. Kakatwa kung iisipin ang ganitong pagtingin dahil sa una pa lamang ay talagang tungkulin na ng estadong tugunan ang pangangailangan ng mamamayan.

Lumilikha ng ilusyon ang pamahalaang mayroong pagkukulang ang mga maralita kung kaya nananatili sila sa masalimuot na kondisyon, na siyang nagreresulta upang gawing kasangkapan ng estado ang panggitnang uri na dutdutin at hamakin ang mahihirap.

Lampas sa diskursong nakatuon ang galit sa mga maralita, malaki ang pangangailangang idirekta ito sa mga ugat ng kahirapan: ang barat na pasahod at kakulangan sa oportunidad sa trabaho.

Nitong Pebrero lamang, tinatayang 2.66 milyong Pilipino pa rin ang walang trabaho, batay sa datos ng Philippine Statistics Authority. Sa Metro Manila, P695 pa rin ang minimum wage, malayo sa kinakailangang P1,266 para sa isang pamilyang binubuo ng limang miyembro o family living wage, ayon sa IBON Foundation.

Nananatili ang pangangailangang makalikha ng mga solusyon, kung saan hindi na kinakailangan pang magkumahog ng mga maralita para lamang matamasa ang mga serbisyong dapat ibinibigay na mismo ng gobyerno.

Salimbayan dito ang paggiit na dapat nasa kamay ng estado ang pamamahala sa regulasyon ng mga batayang serbisyo, tulad ng kuryente at tubig, upang maiwasan ang labis-labis na kontrol sa presyo ng mga monopolyo ng mga korporasyon.

Sa huli, hindi tunay na mapangangatawanan ng mga programa, tulad ng 4Ps, ang layunin nitong matulungan ang mga mahihirap kung nananatiling salat ang suporta ng gobyerno upang magkaroon ng mga sustenableng trabaho ang mamamayang Pilipino. Higit itong esensyal lalo sa panahong lugmok sa krisis sa ekonomiya ang bansa at patuloy ang pagtaas ng presyo ng mga bilihin.

Hindi dapat sa tunggalian sa pagitan ng mga mamumuwis at mga benepisyaryo ng 4Ps nagsisimula ang diskurso hinggil sa masalimuot na kondisyong parehas nilang nararanasan sa bansa. Bagkus, sa pamahalaang nakikita at tumatalima sa mga dagok na kinahaharap ng bawat mamamayan. Mula rito, tunay na maitatawid ang pamilyang Pilipino sa kamalayang malaya mula sa konsepto ng kahirapan. ◆

Unang nailathala sa isyu ng Kulê noong Mayo 1, 2026.

Sumisikip ang mundo at pinag-uugnay tayo ng mga kable.

Habang nakikipamuhay sa Cagayan, sinulat ni Kerima Tariman ang mga katagang ito, na pinatotohanan ng pakikidalamhati ng daan-daang mag-aaral at guro sa vigil ni Alyssa Alano noong Huwebes at Biyernes. Bukod sa mga kuwento ng kaniyang kasikhayan at kakikayan, umugong mula sa Bulwagang Palma ang panaghoy ng komunidad para sa katarungang ipinagkakait ng estado sa lider-estudyante.

Kasama si Alyssa sa 19 na indibidwal na pinaslang ng 79th Infantry Battalion sa Toboso, Negros Occidental noong Abril 19. Kabilang sa siyam na sibilyang nasawi ang mamamahayag na si RJ Ledesma at mga organisador at mananaliksik na sina Maureen Santuyo, Errol Chen, Lyle Prijoles, at Kai Sorem.

Habang tigib sa pighati ang pamilya at mga kaibigan ng mga biktima, ginagamit ng militar ang pamamalagi ng mga sibilyan sa bundok, malapit sa mata ng peligrosong bagyo, upang baluktutin ang naratibo at paratangan silang mga rebelde. Sa gitna ng mga patibong na nais yurakan ang pagkatao ng mga biktima, ito ang klaro: Wala tayong mahihitang katotohanan mula sa institusyong taal na pumapatay sa inosenteng mamamayan.

Pinabulaanan mismo ng Partido Komunista ng Pilipinas ang naratibo ng militar na armadong miyembro sina Alyssa at ang kaniyang mga kasamang nakikipamuhay sa mga magsasaka. Hindi ipinagkakanulo ng partido ang mga mandirigma nitong nasasawi sa mga engkuwentro alang-alang sa kanilang tradisyon na sila’y parangalan.

Lumang taktika ng militar na magtanghal ng engkuwentro, magtanim ng ebidensiya at maging “surrenderees,” at pumostura bilang bayani habang dinadakip ang mga organisador at pinapaslang ang mga mananaliksik sa kanayunan. Ganito ang hulma ng karahasang yumanig sa Diliman noong 2006 nang winala at ginahasa ng militar sina Karen Empeño at Sherlyn Cadapan sa paratang na sila’y mga rebelde—naratibong pinasinungalingan ng naging hatol ng korte.

Nagiging malinaw na binansagan at binihisan ng militar sina Alyssa bilang mga rebelde upang bigyang-katuwiran ang kanilang pagkamatay. Tanda ang Escalante Massacre noong 1985 at ang Himamaylan Massacre nitong 2023 na malaon nang walang pagtanaw ang militar sa pagkakaiba ng sibilyan at rebelde. Sinumang bumabalikwas sa karahasan ng estado’y kaaway na dapat nilang gapiin.

Hindi na bago ang pagsangguni ng estado sa lumang litanya na terorista ang mga estudyante, guro, at mananaliksik mula sa iba-ibang disiplina na tumutungo sa kanayunan para sa pag-aaral at pag-oorganisa. At kahit dumadaan ang mga programang ito sa lokal na pamahalaan, madalas pa rin silang umuuwi bitbit ang mga kuwento ng pananakot at panre-red-tag ng militar sa lugar.

Wala sa hulog ang pasimpleng rekomendasyon ng militar na humingi ang mga mananaliksik ng permiso mula sa lokal na pamahalaan—silang sangkot mismo sa paglikha at pagpapanatili ng inaaral na kahirapan at karahasan sa kanayunan. Walang saysay ang mga permit sa pagtiyak ng kaligtasan ng kapwa mananaliksik at residente pagkat walang habas ang pambobomba at pagpapalayas na isinasagawa ng militar sa iba-ibang dako ng bansa.

Sa kagustuhan ng mga nasa kapangyarihan na ikubli ang kanilang mga paglabag sa kanayunan, kanilang pinapakipot ang pananaw sa pananaliksik bilang simpleng gawaing akademiko, sa halip na isang mapagpalayang tunguhin na layong baguhin ang mga masalimuot na kondisyong sinisiyasat.

Ang karahasan ng estado, kung gayon, ang nagdala kina Alyssa sa Negros upang aralin ang kaayusan dito. Ang pambobomba, pagpapalayas, at kagutumang hinahasik nito ang lumilikha ng mga kondisyong nag-aanak ng mismong pag-aaklas sa kabundukan. At batid nina Alyssa na kung saan pinakanaghihirap ang mamamayan, doon higit na kinakailangan ang husay at dangal ng mga iskolar ng bayan.

Tanda ang pagpaslang kina Alyssa sa kagyat na pangangailangan na buhayin ang usapang pangkapayapaan, kung nais talagang tumalima ng estado sa postura nito bilang padron ng karapatang pantao. Maaaring maging hakbang ito sa muling pagbubukas ng Joint Monitoring Committee sa pagitan ng pamahalaan at ng National Democratic Front of the Philippines upang imbestigahan ang masaker sa Toboso.

Maging kaisa dapat ang administrasyon ng UP sa mga hakbanging ito. Habang mahalaga ang giit ni UP President Angelo Jimenez na hindi nakukulong sa silid-aralan ang pag-aaral, kailangang mas maging malinaw ang pagkondena nito at ni Diliman Chancellor Edgardo Vistan sa pagkamatay nina Alyssa sa kamay ng militar—silang nagpapakipot sa akademikong espasyo at kalayaan ng UP.

Kahingian din ang mas aktibong paglaban ng pamunuan sa disimpormasyong pinapakalat ng estado laban kina Alyssa, at pagtalima sa pangako nitong suportahan ang independent na imbestigasyong isasagawa sa naging operasyon ng militar.

Kaakibat nito, esensyal ang pagbabasura ng administrasyon sa mga kasunduan nito sa militar, katulad ng nilagdaang Declaration of Cooperation. Sa gitna ng umiigting na militarisasyon ng mga kampus, dapat ding isulong ang panunumbalik ng UP-DND Accord na siyang magsasara muli ng tarangkahan ng pamantasan sa mga sinungaling at marahas na armadong puwersa ng estado.

Upang mapalawak ang sumisikip na mundo, marapat na pagtibayin ang ugnayan ng sangkaestudyantehan at ng mamamayang lumalaban sa karahasan ng estado. At gaya ng ipinamalas ni Alyssa, ang ugnayang ito’y mabubuo hindi sa mga silid-aralan, bagkus sa piling ng mga sektor sa kabundukan, sakahan, pagawaan, at pangisdaan. ◆

Nitong mga nakaraang linggo, niyanig ang Kalakhang Maynila ng inisyatibang Safer Cities, na ipinatupad ng Department of Interior and Local Government noong Abril 6. Sa unang linggo ng pagsasagawa nito, 61,549 na kaso ang naitala, at 21,317 sa bilang na ito ang minultahan. Bilang may layuning sugpuin ang krimen, sa ilalim ng Safer Cities ay nagkaroon ng pagpapalakas ng presensya ng pulis, pagpataw ng curfew, pagbabawal sa paglabas ng bahay nang nakahubad, pagbibidyoke nang lagpas sa 10:00 p.m., at iba pa.

Nakapagpapaalala ang pinsalang idinulot ng inisyatiba sa malawakang pagdukot ng mahigit 200 na kabataan na karamihan ay mga menor de edad at mahihirap sa mobilisasyong Baha sa Luneta noong Set. 21. Pati na rin ang naging mabilis na pagkumpuni ng lokal na gobyerno sa nasirang mga kasangkapan at pagtapal sa graffiti sa kahabaan ng Mendiola. Hindi malayo ang mga pangyayari sa Maynila sa Bonifacio Global City, kung saan ipinagbawal naman ang pagdagsa ng mga tinatawag na “geng geng” at ng kabataang alternatibo ang kasuotan.

Nakapagtataka ang pagtingin ni DILG Secretary Jonvic Remulla sa kaayusan, partikular ang ugnayan nito sa pagpupulis sa kasuotang karaniwan ay nakakawing sa imahe ng pagiging maralitang lungsod. Binatikos ito ng maraming kritiko, at kalaunan ay sinuspinde rin ang programa noong Abril 12 sa kadahilanang ito ay “anti poor”. Ngunit, parte lamang ang Safer Cities ng mas malawak na Focused Agenda ng Philippine National Police, na pagtugon naman sa direktiba ni Pangulong Ferdinand Marcos Jr. na paigtingin ang mga polisiyang pang seguridad sa kalunsuran. Gayong hindi malayong magkaroon uli ng Oplan Galugad sa kinabukasan, mahalagang usisain kung kaligtasan nga ba ang nais pangalagaan ng estado o pantasya lamang nito.

May saysay ang pagtingin sa pihit na ito ng estado gamit ang lente ni Erving Goffman. Ayon sa kaniya, ang mga tinatawag na “total institution” ay mga lugar kung saan nilalagas ang personal na pagkakakilanlan ng mga mamamayan ng mas makapangyarihang lohika ng paggalaw at pag-iral. Ang pagsugpo sa mga tumatayong simbolo ng buhay sa maralitang lungsod, katulad ng mga hubad-barong lalaking nag-iinuman sa bangketa o mga kapitbahay na nagbibidyoke hanggang sa magsawa, ay pagbabagong-ayos din sa kapaligiran ayon sa kapritso ng kapital. Layong ikintal ng Safer Cities ang pangkalahatang lohika ng “civility” na nakaangkla sa pagdududa at panghihinala sa kapuwa nating mamamayan.

Dumudulo ang ganitong sistema sa dahas. Kaliwa’t kanan ang mga naging demolisyon sa buwan ng Abril—winasak ang mga kabahayan sa Barangay Pinyahan kasunod lamang ng malaking sunog na nagdulot ng pinsalang umabot sa P4 milyon. Nahaharap din sa banta ng pagpapaalis ang mga residente sa Panday Creekside sa Taguig at sa Purok B17 sa Los Baños, Laguna. Makikitang kasukdulan ng umiiral na sistema ang malawakang pagtaboy sa mga maralita upang bigyang-daan ang mga puwersa ng merkado.

Ngunit, hindi ang malalaking negosyante ang magdadala sa bansa patungo sa pag-unlad. Malinaw sa mga pag-aaral sa ekonomiya ng bansa na ang mismong nagpapatakbo sa mauunlad na siyudad katulad ng BGC, Taguig, at Maynila ay ang mga taong pilit nitong itinataboy—mga manggagawa, tindera, kahit kabataan.

Nararapat na igiit ng mga maralitang lungsod ang kanilang karapatan na mabuhay sa mga espasyong binuo nila para sa kanilang mga sarili. Naitala na sa kasaysayan na kung patuloy na tatayo at lalaban ang mamamayan, hindi sila basta-basta mapapalayas. Patunay nito ang hindi pagpapagapi ng mga residente ng Sitio San Roque sa kabila ng banta ng demolisyon at pagpapaalis.

Ang pag-unlad ay hindi lamang para sa iilan. Sa huli, nasa kamay ng mamamayan ang tunay na pag-usbong ng lungsod. Ang maralita ang palaging itinuturing na hindi bumabagay sa espasyong sila mismo ang nagbigay-buhay. Ngunit kung wala sila, titigil ang galaw ng lungsod. ◆

Unang nailathala sa isyu ng Kulê noong Abril 22, 2026.

Una kong naranasan ang pakikipagtalik sa dati kong kasintahan sa edad na 16. Pagtungtong ko ng 18, kusa ko nang nilakad ang mundo ng hooking up kasabay ng pagtatantong nonbinary ako. Bilang isang assigned male at birth o AMAB na hindi kumukomporme sa itinakdang kasarian, naging madali sa akin ang pag-aalay ng katawan para pagnasaan. Ako ang nagtatakda kung kailan, kanino, at paano ako nakikipag-fun.

Nagsaya. Naglibog. Nagpakasasa. Pero sa bawat pagpayag kong mahawakan, natutuhan ko ring ipaubaya ang katawan sa mga paraang hindi ko namamalayan. Dahil sa lipunan na patuloy akong binabasa bilang lalaki, kublian kong sinusunod ang itinakdang kabinataan sa bawat pakikipagsiping. Sa pagitan ng pagnanasang inakalang akin at ng pagkalalaking ipinapataw sa akin, hindi ko na makilala ang sarili tuwing kaharap ang salamin.

Sa mga dating app, nalaman kong may madaling daan sa mundo kapag binabasa akong “lalaki.” Mas magaan ang tono at mas palakaibigan ang mga sagot ng mga nakakausap ko sa Grindr o sa Bumble. May mga pintong sarado sa mga “halata” o baklang effeminate, ngunit bumubukas para sa akin. At tuwing lalabas ng bahay, tinataboy ng wangis kong “passable” ang mga panggigipit o punang matatanggap kung hindi ganito ang itsura.

Sa mga ganitong sandali, sumisiksik ang hinalang baka ang pakikibagay ko sa kalalakihan ang nagpapadali sa akin na huminga sa sistemang mapanakal.

Ngunit sa bawat pag-angkop ko sa kabinataan, may bahagi sa aking kumikiling sa mundong cisheteropatriyarkal. Hindi ako sigurado kung pinoprotektahan ko ang sarili o ang kaginhawaan ng iba. Dahil sa pribilehiyong kaabikat ng pagiging “lalaki,” nararamdaman ko ang pagiging katanggap-tanggap, kamahal-mahal. At sa pagtanggap na iyon, pakiramdam kong kasabwat ako ng sistemang mariin kong kinokondena.

Hindi rin nakatutulong ang mga inaasahang pagganap kapag sinabing nonbinary: Dapat mullet ang buhok, may hikaw sa kung saang bahagi ng katawan, o may kung anumang niche na music taste o libangan. Tinutustusan ng mga istiryotipong ito ang imahen ng hindi lalaki, hindi babae, at wala rin sa dalawa. Hindi ko rin masisisi kung ganito na ang nagiging sukatan ng pagiging nonbinary gayong salat kami sa espasyo at pagtanaw ng lipunan sa aming pagkakakilanlan.

Nahuhuli ko ang sariling naiipit sa pangangailangan ng lipunan. Sa pagnanais na maaprubahan ang aking katawan, may makasaksi sa aking pagganap, at magkaroon ng anyong magpapatunay sa aking pagkakakilanlan, lalo akong nalalayo sa sarili. Pasan ang pribilehiyong handog ng pagkalalaki, sinusubok ng mundo ang relasyon ko sa aking katawan bilang nonbinary.

Kung wala nang nakatingin, paano ko titingnan ang sarili?

Baka magbihis na lamang ako nang kumportable kahit hindi na kaaya-aya. Walang tanong kung nakakalaki ba ito. Walang kibo kung bumabagay ba sa mata ng iba.

Ilang beses ko na ring ipupukpok sa kukote na pisikal na anyo lamang ng sarili ang katawan. Isa itong kanbas na naghihintay na may magpinta. At ako iyon. Hinahalina tayo ng katawan na ituring ito bilang espasyo para sa patuloy na paglikha. Maaaring dinidiktahan ng mundo ang katawang gusto ko, pero hanggang sumisikat ang araw, akin ito.

Ngayon, pakikinggan ko kung saan kumikiling ang aking katawan, kung kailan ito umaatras at gustong magpahinga, o kung kailan nito gusto lumabas upang lubusang makilala ang sarili. Ako lang ang may karapatang pumili at baguhin ito habang binabagtas ang mga hindi pa nagagalugad sa pagitan at labas ng ispektrum ng kasarian.

Hindi naman ako naghahanap ng hulma. Naghahanap lamang ako ng lakas ng loob na manatili sa pagitan, at angkinin iyon bilang akin. ◆

Unang nailathala sa isyu ng Kulê noong Abril 7, 2026

The government blares its alarms amid a crisis of its own making. The energy sector’s overreliance on fossil fuels is now taking its toll, forcing the country to ramp up coal imports to offset the severe shortfall in oil supply. Yet to outsource solutions overseas where the crisis itself originated only binds the country to the same volatile trends.

Government statistics show that coal and natural gas already account for a staggering 77% of the country’s total power generation. The majority of which is being imported, with 83.5% of oil and 51.7% of coal being sourced abroad. With war-driven disruptions in global oil supply, the Philippines responds by ramping up coal imports, framing it as a necessary but temporary crutch to keep energy supply afloat.

With its three oil fields and one refinery, the Philippines is far from being energy independent. If it wants to break off from being dependent on imports, it must also detach itself from being bound to fossil fuels. The shift, if done right, also comes with the benefit of decreasing carbon emissions.

Unfortunately, policymakers have little appetite for breaking the country’s fossil fuel dependence as doing so would cut against the interests of the fossil fuel sector. Three industry giants—Petron, Shell, and Chevron—control 45.5% of the local market, which have fueled long-standing accusations of cartel-like collusion in the form of opaque pricing mechanisms and synchronized price hikes.

Select renewables are less susceptible to such control. Unlike imported crude, geothermal and hydro resources are abundant but dispersed, making them, in theory, harder to monopolize. Green energy expansion would crash the outsized profit rates corporations have long enjoyed.

However, the nature of renewables does not render them immune to exploitation. Without strong regulation, the transition to renewables risks reproducing the same extractive dynamics seen in the current power mix, where ownership and decision-making remain detached from communities.

Said risk is already evident in Ilocos Norte, where solar farms have thinned biodiversity-rich forests. Communities have lost natural buffers against extreme heat and heavy rains. The local fauna critical for the ecosystem also declined as habitats collapsed.

The call to shift to renewable energy is not new as energy crunches are never a once-in-a-century event. During the 70s, the oil embargo in West Asia led to a three-fold increase in the price of oil in the Philippines. Yet decades later, the country’s energy mix remains largely unchanged despite greener energy policies and more advanced technology.

In 2008, Congress passed the Renewable Energy Act to accelerate the development and commercialization of renewable energy in the country. The law notwithstanding, the share of renewables in the energy mix went down 10 points since its implementation. The policy failed in its weak implementation, exacerbated by oil companies that are lobbying to maintain fossil fuels’ chokehold in the country.

The dominance of coal is a product of a well-oiled machine engineered by elites who stand to gain the most from the continued use of fossil fuels. The known company giants who manufactured this dependence are often in control of multiple extractive trades like oil, petroleum, and coal. San Miguel Corporation’s Ramon Ang commands much of the industry through Petron, the country’s largest oil refiner, and several coal mining subsidiaries.

To protect the P868 billion their energy arm earns annually, the fossil fuels lobby bankrolls politicians who echo their interests and block efforts to diversify the energy mix, preserving their near monopoly over power. They often donate to campaigns of candidates, without being itemized in legally compelled expenditure disclosure.

Breaking free from import dependence and domestic monopoly control is the only viable path to preventing future energy crises. The state can start charting this path by backing domestic renewable energy resume with subsidies to allow them to overcome high entry barriers. Expanding support for smaller energy producers is itself a direct check on monopolization, effectively decentralizing market power. In the long term, a just energy transition requires one that places the lives and livelihoods of those to bear its costs at the forefront.

The president’s short-term fixes, such as increasing coal imports and suspending fuel excise taxes, may offer urgent relief but guarantees nothing to resolve the structural failures driving high prices. Maintaining such band-aid reliefs will not make the country more prepared for the next energy crisis.

Even if the geopolitical tensions driving the current crisis subside, future shocks will continue to send fuel prices skyrocketing. If anything, this crisis challenged the government to spark a political and industrial shift of power. The crisis is pushing for reforms not only for present demands, but for the inevitable crises the world will never have a shortage of. ◆

First published in the Apr. 21, 2026 print issue of the Collegian

Kung tunay na bayanihan ang nais ng pangulo sa gitna ng krisis, hindi ang said na said na mahihirap ang uunahing pangaralan kundi ang pinakamayayamang matagal nang nagpapakasasa sa kalabisang ibinunga ng pananamantala.

Matagal nang malinaw sa mamamayan ang mga alternatibong kailangang isakatuparan upang makaramdam sila ng kagyat na kaalwan, tulad ng suspensyon ng value-added tax at excise tax. May ilang mga ekonomista namang mas pinapaboran ang ayuda sa pinakamahihirap. Ano pa man sa mga partikular na solusyong ito ang itulak, laging palusot ng pamahalaan na limitado ang maipatutupad nito dahil sa kapos na pondo habang patuloy na lumolobo ang utang ng bansa.

Ngunit hindi ito problema kung magpapasiya lang ang gobyernong ituon ang paniningil nito sa pinakamayayaman.

Kaya hati man ang iba sa ilang mga partikular na patakaran, malinaw na may dahilang magkaisa sa pagsulong ng wealth tax. Pinapalawak nito ang pinansyal na espasyo upang magpondo ng mas maraming hakbanging iibsan ang dagok ng pinakamahihirap sa pamamagitan ng pagbaling ng pasanin sa pinakamayayaman.

Makatarungang pagtitimbang lang ito lalo kung isasaalang-alang ang malaon nang regresibong sistema ng pagbubuwis. Dahil sa mga patakaran sa pagbubuwis, patuloy na bumababa ang bahagi ng corporate tax sa kabuuang koleksyon ng buwis ng pamahalaan. Tumataas naman ang nakukuha sa indibidwal na kita at personal na konsumo, na parehong may pinakamalaking bahagi sa kita ng pamahalaan.

Kaya mismong panahon ng krisis, tumatambad ang kakarampot na bahaging inaambag ng mga mayayaman sa mga programang tutulong sana sa pinakamahihirap. Dahil sadyang nasa mayoryang sektor ang pinanggagalingan ng kalakhan ng kita ng estado, naibubuntong sa mahihirap ang hinanaing ng mga panggitnang uri sa tuwing may mga hakbangin tulad ng pamamahagi ng ayuda.

Subalit hindi kailangang lumitaw ang gayong hidwaan kung maililipat lang ang pasanin sa mga pinakamayayamang dati nang nakikinabang sa tagibang na sistema ng pagbubuwis.

Ganito ang tunguhin ng Makabayan bloc sa kanilang panukalang wealth tax at Akbayan sa House Bill 11127. Ang katiting na kabawasan sa kinakamal na kita ng mga bilyonaryo taon-taon ang gagamitin upang makalikom ng pondo para sa ibang programa ng gobyerno sa harap ng P15 trilyong utang ng bansa at mahigit isang trilyong kakulangan sa badyet.

Tinatayang P502 bilyon taon-taon ang koleksyon mula sa 3,000 bilyonaryo, sa pagtatasa ng IBON Foundation—sapat na para tugunan ang inestima nilang P500 bilyon na dagdag sa oil import bill ngayong taon. Sa madaling sabi, kayang saluhin ng makokolekta sa mayayaman ang buong pinsala ng pagtaas ng presyo.

Ang garantisadong kita na mahuhugot ng gobyerno ay maaaring makatulong na lumikha ng kagyat na pondo para sa mga targeted subsidy at posibleng emergency crisis fund. Sa bisa nito, maaaring mahinto ang lubos na pagsirit ng presyo sa pamamagitan ng price subsidy gaya ng Oil Fuel Fund ng Thailand na babalikat sa dagdag na gastusing bunga ng mas mataas na presyo ng pag-aangkat.

Ang tanging pumipigil sa pagsasakatuparan ng mga benepisyong ito ay ang mga palusot tulad ng dahilan ng administrasyong maaari itong magdulot ng “capital flight,” bagay na malabong mangyari sa Pilipinas. Balintuna ang ganitong dahilan gayong matagal nang walang ginagawa ang Pilipinas sa talamak na kalakaran ng paglilipat-yaman gamit ang offshore transfers.

Hawak din ng mga nangungunang bilyonaryo ang mga dambuhalang kompanyang nakatali sa mga serbisyong pampubliko sa bansa na hindi maililipat basta-basta nang hindi naisasakripisyo ang pinagmumulan nila ng tubo.

Inkonklusibo rin ang pangamba ng Department of Finance, sapagkat malinaw na hindi wealth tax ang magtataboy sa mga namumuhunan lalo na sa kasalukuyang isyu ng katiwalian. Mahina ang pag-unlad ng merkado ng kapital sa Pilipinas, halimbawa, dahil sa mahinang pamamahala sa mga korporasyong nakasentro sa iilang pamilya at mahinang credit rating infrastructure, ayon sa ulat ng Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development.

Hungkag, kung gayon, ang pahayag ni Marcos na “nothing is being discounted” sa usapin ng mga solusyon sa krisis. Batid ni Marcos ang interes na mawawala. Batid din ito ng mga nagdaang administrasyon at ng mga bilyonaryong hawak ang mga naghaharing partido.

Ngunit pinatunayan ng krisis sa langis sa ilalim ng kaniyang diktador na ama ang bunga ng sukdulang hirap ng taumbayan na tinuldukan ang panunungkulan ng rehimen. Sa kabila ng mga balakid sa pagpapasa ng wealth tax, itinuturo ngayon na walang tagumpay na hindi kayang anihin kung patuloy ang mamamayan na igiit ito sa panahon ng matinding kahirapan.

Sapagkat madali lang ang solusyon kung magpapasiya ang gobyernong itigil ang pagpapanikluhod sa pinakamayayamang ugat ng matinding kawalan ng pagkakapantay-pantay sa bansa. Magsisimula ang tunay na bayanihan sa balangkas ng makatarungang pagbubuwis. ◆

Former President Rodrigo Duterte’s proceedings were broadcast thousands of kilometers away, yet I—and those beside me—could see the dissonance in defense counsel Nicholas Kaufman’s attempt to recast his image. The International Criminal Court (ICC) was hearing arguments on whether the case would proceed to trial, a decision that would determine whether the evidence would be heard at all.

A decade had passed since Duterte’s war on drugs, but its impact remained visible in the room. Some cursed under their breath when the camera panned over the defense team. From my periphery, a woman shifted in her seat, her grip tightening on the armrests. I had spoken to her before the court resumed on screen.

Lara is an actor who staged plays in theaters and universities. She reacted audibly when Kaufman mentioned the volume of flowers sent by Duterte’s supporters—so many, he claimed, that they had to be turned away. Lara’s husband, whom she once described as her greatest supporter, was also buried in flowers. Not in celebration, but in mourning.

“Tinanggalan niya [Duterte] ng pag-asa ang asawa ko,” she said, recalling how he was shot and killed during Duterte’s anti-drug campaign. Widowed, she turned to performance to tell his story. The retelling did not change the outcome. What it offered, she said, was a sense of company, a feeling she shared with those who had come to watch the hearing with her.

Lara was one among the families of the more than 12,000 who were estimated by the prosecution to have been killed during Duterte’s drug crusade. However, rights groups estimate that the toll could be as high as 30,000.

Extrajudicial killings predated Duterte’s presidency. During his term as mayor of Davao City, such violence was already part of the identity he had built for himself. These resonated with a public long frustrated with crime and bolstered his popularity. While his defense sought to downplay these statements as mere offhand remarks, the prosecution remained insistent that Duterte’s words served as a crucial link connecting him to the thousands of deaths carried out by state forces and vigilantes alike.

The populist persona, once central to his political ascent, eventually led to his arrest on March 11 last year, days after berating the ICC with curses in front of his supporters. While this exemplified how he enabled extrajudicial killings during his administration, the charges against him extend beyond his speeches. The prosecution alleges that Duterte played a more direct role in the killings, going as far as placing hitmen on the government payroll during his mayorship in Davao.

“Direct perpetrators complied because of their blind loyalty to Mr. Duterte. Some did it out of fear. And others were encouraged to comply by promises of money and rewards,” said Deputy Prosecutor Mame Mandiaye Niang in her opening statement.

Although Lara lives in Metro Manila, she stands as a first-hand witness of the systemic killings that took place all over the country. She described the system as “unfair,” recalling how her husband was killed amid his attempt to recover from substance abuse. In the absence of concrete, rehabilitation-centered solutions, many who struggled with addiction met a fate like her husband’s.

Around her, others carried similar accounts—many involving victims of personal disputes later branded as drug offenders to justify their killings. Sitting alone on the opposite side of the auditorium was a stout elderly woman, bundled in puffy jackets and quietly sipping coffee.

Nanay Nena was the mother of a young man who was beaten and executed, allegedly by barangay officials emboldened by Duterte’s drug war.

She showed me photos of the aftermath on her phone. On a blood-soaked bed lay her son, bruised and beaten beyond recognition. Though witnesses said he had been asleep just hours before barangay tanod entered their home, officials still claimed they only beat and battered him in an act of self-defense. The CCTV nearby that may have been used to prove otherwise was conveniently out of commission.

Nanay Nena was one of those who cried out in anger in the middle of Kaufman’s closing remarks. The defense argued that the killings cited by the prosecution were not coordinated. According to Duterte’s camp, each death resulted from individual decisions made by law enforcement or local officials, rather than a unified policy directed by Duterte.

The families, however, rejected the narrative. “Si Duterte ang puno’t dulo,” Nanay Nena said.

For her, to insist that these killings were merely the sum of isolated decisions is to belittle the trauma she had undergone. In her eyes, Duterte was just as guilty as the men that pounded her son with batons. This same line of reasoning underpins the ICC’s case.

Together with Duterte, several of his closest allies, like his own police chief Bato Dela Rosa and aide Bong Go, are alleged to have shared a “common plan” to neutralize individuals suspected of using, selling, or producing illegal drugs. This agreement is evidenced by numerous speeches in which Duterte brazenly outlined his murderous policy.

For people like Nanay Nena and Lara, who failed to receive justice because of the widespread impunity, the ICC emerged as a distant source of hope.

For them, accountability meant more than the possibility of punishment for Duterte. The ICC is an intervention against collective amnesia, something the Philippines as a country has historically been vulnerable to. Without an authoritative finding that the deaths were linked by policy, or at the very least enabled by it, each case will remain isolated and easier to dismiss.

“The victims want these charges to be confirmed because they want to be reintegrated to their communities, because they are still in the shadows of fake news, of fear, and of threats from Mr. Duterte’s supporters,” said Gilbert Andres in his closing address, one of the two Filipino lawyers representing Duterte’s victims.

The victims’ families shared a common experience beyond grief. The realities they shared with the world were constantly challenged, often on unequal ground. For families like Lara’s, recounting what happened meant entering a space where their accounts become targets for political propaganda. It was most evident in the number of hate comments flooding the livestream—words that made potential victims or witnesses even more afraid to narrate their stories.

As such, when the hearing ended and a call connected the families to the lawyers representing them, many could not hold back their tears. Each took up the microphone to express their gratitude, tears streaming down their cheeks, hopeful that their participation would drive the final nail toward holding Duterte accountable.

For years, the absence of recognition has allowed their grief to remain unresolved. As Lara noted, recounting what happened invited hostility. Even still, many have appeared in their community to testify their accounts. For them, the ICC represents not closure, but the possibility of recognition—a chance to have their shared struggle acknowledged.

Nothing can dismantle Kaufman’s claims more effectively than sitting alongside the victims’ families and listening to their stories. When the screening ended, no one rushed to leave. Some stepped outside to call loved ones; others, with no one left to call, held on to each other. They parted with the hope that the charges would be confirmed, and that they would meet again at the next hearing.

“Ang para sa akin lang, ang mahalaga ay ‘yung maalala siya [Laura’s husband]. Kaya ko ako nagsasalita’t nagkwe-kwento para masiguradong hindi nila mababaluktot ang kwento kung saan kami ang dehado,” Lara said. ◆

My seniors once told me that dating an orgmate was a horrible idea. It’ll be awkward, complicated, and it almost always doesn’t end well.

We did anyway.

When I asked you out for last year’s UP Fair, I thought I was only asking for one night. I didn’t expect how easily you would slip into the rest of my life after.

Even the most exhausting days started to feel bearable, knowing that I get to tell you about them later, over dinner, and later through late-night chats. You were there in those small stretches of time when it felt like the world had finally decided to be gentle with us.

You became the person beside me in every small, ordinary moment. The one who would always save me the better half of whatever we were eating, or send me a picture of something ridiculous the second you thought of me. In those moments, I had built the certainty that whatever we had would last.

But it had to live alongside everything else, under the quiet pressure of knowing we might be too much for each other. Your officership in our org demanded more of you, and my then-arduous presswork contributing for the Collegian never let go of me. Add to that our academics, which only grew heavier. Bit by bit, it asked more of us than either of us knew how to give, until making time for each other began to feel less like coming home and more like trying not to lose one another.

Maybe it was inevitable. The sunset sky at the CS Complex signified what was coming. “We’re trying too hard to make something work that isn’t anymore.” You averted my gaze when you said it. “You deserve something easier than this. And I don’t think I can be that for you.”

I remember nodding calmly, like your words were easy to accept. I told you I understood, I did. But something in me quietly shattered into pieces. We were never the same after that.

In the days that followed, I finally understood what my seniors meant. I had to relearn how to be without you—how to stop reaching for you first, how to sit quietly without expecting your return. What hurts the most is that losing you didn’t mean losing you at all; you kept lingering in the shape of everything you once meant to me.

I miss who we were before the carefulness. I miss you in ways I do not know how to explain without sounding pathetic, which is perhaps just another word for honest. Probably why I found myself driven by impulse, doing the one thing I swore I wouldn’t.

I bought us tickets. Definitely not because I’m certain of anything, but because we still cross paths just enough to make me feel that our chapter is still unfinished. A part of me still waits on the same ground, wondering if I could ask you out again and survive whatever answer you will give me.

It is foolish to let a pair of tickets carry this much weight. But that is what they have become: a small, stubborn proof that I was willing to believe in us once, and perhaps I still do. ◆

*Apologies to Jaya.

First published in the April 7 print issue of the Collegian.

On the eastern shores of Sicogon, a small island off the northern coast of Iloilo, a new hotel stands where a small fishing village used to be. Kids are splashing around in a pool. A couple is sipping cocktails by a poolside bar. Other guests are watching the sun set from the balconies of their USD200-a-night rooms. They are at Huni: the new resort opened here in 2018 by Ayala Corporation, perhaps the most admired conglomerate in the Philippines.

Just around three kilometers away is a small village. No paved roads, no running water, and no electricity. Most of the houses are humble bungalows; all but a few have missing walls, windows, or roofs. It is May 2025 and in one of these houses, women are weeping in front of a white coffin.

They are at the wake of Alvin Colongon: the latest addition to the growing list of Sicogon’s displaced farmers who have passed on while waiting for something Ayala promised to give them a decade ago—in exchange for them giving up on one of their most cherished dreams.

Fondly called “Tay Albing” by his neighbors, Colongon is one of 216 landless farmers in Sicogon legally recognized as “agrarian reform beneficiaries” (ARBs) under the government’s Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program. He had just turned 83.

Tay Albing applied to become an ARB in the early 2000s, then he helped form the Federation of Sicogon Island Farmers’ and Fisherfolks’ Associations, together with fellow small cultivators harboring a simple dream: to finally own just enough land that they don’t have to live in fear of going hungry every monsoon season, when the sea becomes too rough and they cannot catch fish to exchange for rice in the mainland.

In March 2010, Tay Albing and his fellow FESIFFA members thought they were about to finally realize this dream: The Department of Agrarian Reform issued an “Order of Finality” ruling that 335 hectares of Sicogon’s land should be awarded to them, giving each ARB around a hectare of land.

But instead of implementing the ruling and telling Tay Albing and other FESIFFA members to prepare to install themselves on the land, government officials under the administration of the late President Benigno Aquino III started putting pressure on them and telling them the opposite: to just forget about land reform and agree to a deal with Ayala.

To FESIFFA members’ consternation, Ayala had apparently formed a joint venture with Sicogon’s landowners to develop the entire island into a tropical enclave— and the Aquino administration wanted to ensure that this project proceeded even if it meant setting aside the country’s land reform program.

Tay Albing and other association members—all of whom had previously refused to accept Ayala’s earlier offers of cash and housing in exchange for “voluntarily” leaving the island—continued to stand their ground and to resist.

But on November 8, 2014, in what they have since repeatedly described in so many letters and interviews as an act of “treachery” by someone they trusted, FESIFFA members were pushed by former Akbayan party-list president and then National Anti-Poverty Commission Chairperson Joel Rocamora to finally sign a deal that he insisted was “fair” but which the farmers immediately rejected as soon as they read its terms.

Under the proposed deal, Ayala was to give FESIFFA members 40 hectares of land for farming, 30 hectares of land for housing, and cash. But in exchange, the farmers were to give up the 335 hectares of land that DAR had already ruled should be theirs.

In short: they were to forget about land reform and settle for just around a fifth of a hectare of farmland each—far from enough land for them to live without fear of going hungry every typhoon season. They were to be awarded land, but Ayala effectively grabbed it from them with the help of the state.

FESIFFA later declared Rocamora “persona non grata” in Sicogon, repudiated the deal, and campaigned for the government to implement DAR’s “Order of Finality” on Sicogon’s lands. But with the government continuing to refuse to carry out said order, FESIFFA eventually decided to just demand more concessions from the corporation—all while maintaining that it is unjust and that they only abide by it under duress.

But now it has been over a decade since the deal was signed.

Tay Albing and 24 of Sicogon’s 216 “agrarian reform beneficiaries” have died without benefiting from either agrarian reform or from the compromise deal they were forced to sign with Ayala. Around half or more of FESIFFA’s members are now in their 70s or 80s.

Though it has given FESIFFA members a fraction of the funds and the low-cost housing units it is obliged to give them, Ayala has yet to hand them what they deem most important: the titles to the 70 hectares of land they ought to receive in exchange for the much larger piece of land Ayala effectively took away from them under their 2014 agreement.

The reason for this decade-long delay, according to FESIFFA members, is simple: Ayala is insisting on transferring the 70 hectares of land as a “donation” and on imposing all sorts of onerous conditions that, if violated, would constitute grounds for the land to be taken back by Ayala.

But FESIFFA has been refusing to accept this “donation,” maintaining that what Ayala must transfer is not a gift but damage compensation for the loss Ayala made them suffer. From their perspective, Ayala has done them wrong and it therefore has no right imposing any conditions on them.

This is clearly not just about land—it is about power.

By casting themselves as gift-givers, Ayala seeks to treat FESIFFA members not as the aggrieved parties that they are but as the lowly recipients of their benevolence. The goal is to make FESIFFA members behave a certain way: not as proud and resilient survivors of an injustice but as humble supplicants who should be forever grateful to them and therefore also docile before them, their supposedly generous benefactors.

A FESIFFA member I interviewed put it in plainer terms: Ayala wants “to put us on a leash and treat us like carabaos.”

This is unacceptable.

The compromise deal imposed on Sicogon’s landless farmers by Ayala with the help of the state is patently unjust in itself. A group of small people who have lived in fear of going hungry all their lives should never have been forced to surrender land to a conglomerate whose total assets is already worth more than the gross domestic product of some countries. Land reform should never have been set aside just so a corporate giant could build another exclusive tropical playground for the rich.

Much more ought to be done to correct the injustice they experienced, but at the very least Ayala should desist from treating FESIFFA members as carabaos. It should honor its obligations to them under the 2014 deal immediately by unconditionally returning at least part of the land it effectively grabbed from them—now before more of them die.

But ultimately, justice for Tay Albing and for so many other landless farmers and fisherfolk could only come when land reform—long-promised but always compromised or set aside in the face of power—is finally implemented in Sicogon and across the country. ◆

Herbert Docena, PhD is a Professorial Lecturer at the Department of Sociology of UP Diliman. He spent most of 2025 living in Sicogon to produce Wash Out, a documentary film on the two-decade-long struggle for land in the island which will be shown at the UP Film Institute’s Cine Adarna this April 14 at 2 p.m.. He submitted this essay to several of the country’s top media outlets—ones which have consistently published his contributions before—but none of them replied to him on this piece despite repeated follow-ups.

US-Israeli aggression in Iran has already reverberated worldwide, beyond the land where hundreds of bombs are being dropped every day, to the dozens of countries importing oil from West Asia. The violence of war has rippled far beyond the battlefield, most immediately through disruptions to the global oil supply.

Halted oil movement caused by the closure of trade routes has resulted in a surge in prices worldwide, whether due to companies responding to actual cost hikes in imported oil or to leveraging deregulated pricing mechanisms. This is the lens through which imperialist-backed wars must be understood: not merely as a clash of states, but a catalyst for systemic instability across the globe.

Wars introduce acute uncertainty into energy markets. Even the anticipation of escalation is enough to drive speculative behavior, pushing prices upward as companies hedge against supply disruptions—especially with the closure of the Strait of Hormuz, a chokepoint through which many oil tankers pass, a month ago. And while emergency measures such as coordinated stockpile releases can temporarily ease pressure, they do little to resolve the underlying volatility produced by military operations.

This instability creates fertile ground for corporate profiteering. Energy firms and commodity traders operate within pricing systems that can quickly and opaquely adjust to perceived risk, allowing them to maintain or even expand profit margins during periods of instability. For import-dependent economies like the Philippines with oil deregulation laws in place, higher global oil prices translate into higher transportation costs and more expensive basic goods, ultimately placing the burden on consumers.

But the persistence of these disruptions raises a deeper issue. These are not unintended side effects of otherwise justified interventions. What makes the cascading global consequences of war particularly indefensible is the nature of the intervention itself. After all, the US does not engage in military action purely on moral or humanitarian grounds.

Even as credible international findings confirm human rights abuses by the Iranian regime, the US does not have a license to violate a country’s sovereignty. Any effort to demand accountability from the Iranian government must be pursued without inflicting indiscriminate harm on the Iranian people, such as violent crackdown on protests, targeting of journalists and the media, and the systemic repression of women and minorities. To oppose US-Israeli intervention, then, is to also reject a framework that accepts indiscriminate violence and coercion against people as tools to punish governments they deem authoritarian enough.

The US’s involvement in West Asia and other oil-producing countries, such as Venezuela, is shaped by long-standing imperialist and extractive interests: securing access and direct control over oil supplies through interventions, sanctions, and other coercive practices. The US has repeatedly done this, backing the 1953 Iranian coup that removed Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddegh after he nationalized the oil industry, after which a Western consortium was reestablished to control the oil sector. This pursuit underpins the US’s broader goal of maintaining geopolitical dominance in those regions and preserving an international order favorable to its own and its allies’ economic interests.

Supply shocks and price spikes are thus embedded in a system in which military force is used to sustain asymmetrical power relations, and countries far removed from the conflict are left to endure the material fallout from disrupted global supply chains.

Since 2019, US sanctions on Venezuela have constrained a major oil producer, reducing global oil supply and pushing up prices. The same logic applies to escalating tensions involving Iran. Any disruption, whether real or anticipated, feeds into a pricing structure that amplifies instability. In this sense, the global economy is not merely reacting to conflict, but it is structured to magnify and redistribute its effects, disproportionately impacting those with the least capacity to absorb them.

For the Philippines, global disruptions quickly translate into higher living costs. And the effects extend beyond domestic consumption, as precarious overseas employment conditions and disruptions to remittance flows further destabilize the financial foundation of millions of Filipino households.

In the face of such conditions, state inaction allows external volatility to directly dictate domestic hardship. The Philippine government must take a more active role in cushioning the impact of supply-side shocks. Decisive actions, such as regulating oil prices, ensuring more transparent pricing mechanisms, and providing fuel subsidies through redistributive taxes, such as wealth taxes, are necessary to shield vulnerable sectors of society from externally generated crises.

But addressing volatility beyond its symptoms requires confronting the root cause. A more principled position demands that the Ferdinand Marcos Jr. administration recognize that these economic shocks are inseparable from the broader dynamics of US imperialism. For countries like the Philippines, continued military alignment and cooperation with the US implicates them in a system that ultimately undermines their own economic stability.

Oil supply shocks lay bare a stark imbalance, where the costs are pushed onto working people across borders while the gains accrue to powerful states and corporate actors.

Breaking this cycle demands a clear political stance. As long as imperialist strategies continue to govern the geopolitics of energy, crises like these will recur—each time deepening inequality and instability. The only durable path forward is to reject the logic that sustains them and assert, unequivocally, that war-driven disruption of global livelihoods is neither inevitable nor acceptable. ◆

First published in the Apr. 8, 2026 print issue of the Collegian.