When a journalist who hails from the same soil as we do calls his own people “pusaka,” “taga-bundok,” and “walang pinag-aralan,” it is not journalism—it is betrayal.
Ramon Tulfo, who proudly identifies himself as a son of Manay, Davao Oriental, has publicly shamed his fellow Manayanons for supposedly lacking “refinement” after some residents shouted “Sara! Sara!” during President Ferdinand Marcos Jr.’s visit to the quake-hit town. In his words, those cries of affection for Vice President Sara Duterte were a sign of ignorance, entitlement, and backwardness.
But what Tulfo fails to understand—or perhaps has chosen to forget—is that shouting “Sara!” was not an act of disrespect, but of expression. In a democracy, the people have every right to voice their sentiments. That is what freedom looks like. To equate that with poor manners or lack of education is a distortion of both civility and truth.
Tulfo’s sweeping insult against his kababayans is deeply unfair. To call the people of Manay pusaka (a derogatory term for “uncivilized”) or taga-bundok is to echo the very elitism that has long silenced voices from the countryside. He may think he’s offering “tough love,” but what he’s really doing is reinforcing stereotypes that for generations have been used to demean rural and Indigenous communities in Mindanao.
The people of Manay are not perfect, but they are dignified, resilient, and proud. They are farmers, fisherfolk, teachers, students, and workers who have survived typhoons, earthquakes, and poverty with heads held high. They don’t need to be lectured on “refinement” by someone who measures worth by manners rather than by character.
Respect is not demanded by power. It is earned by humility and sincerity. If Tulfo truly wanted to uplift his hometown, he would defend it from ridicule, not add to its burden.
The anger his words sparked among Manayanons is not mere sensitivity—it is righteous indignation. Because no one, not even a famous journalist, has the right to demean an entire town and dismiss its people as backward simply for expressing their political preference.
Mr. Tulfo, you may have turned your back on the mountains and the people you once called home, but do not forget: the strength of Manay comes from those very hills you now call “uncivilized.” The same people you called pusaka are the ones rebuilding their homes today, without cameras, without power, without help from the elite—but with dignity intact.
You may have refinement. But they have honor.