When a 7.4-magnitude earthquake struck Davao Oriental, the first reaction of the national government—through the Department of Agriculture—was not to send in more rescue teams, medical support, or immediate relief goods. Instead, it proudly announced that ₱20-per-kilo rice will soon be sold in the Davao Region under its “Benteng Bigas Meron (BBM) Na” program.
For God’s sake—really?
At a time when people were digging through the rubble, when lives were literally hanging by a thread, and when families were desperately searching for loved ones buried beneath debris, the government’s first thought was to sell rice? Not to provide food, shelter, or rescue—but to sell?
This reveals not just a failure of empathy, but a dangerous distortion of priorities. The first 48 hours after a major disaster are critical. Every second counts. It’s the window when lives can still be saved—when the focus must be on rescue, recovery, and relief, not publicity or price points.
And where was the President during all this?
During both the Cebu and Davao earthquakes, not even a single public broadcast or message of assurance came from him. Not even a show of presence. In fact, in one interview, he seemed uncertain whether there was indeed an earthquake in Cebu at all. What is happening to this government’s sense of urgency and leadership? Where is the compassion, the presence, the heart of a leader in times of crisis?
It’s hard not to recall the glaring contrast during the election season last year. Back then, aid programs flowed endlessly—TUPAD, AICS, AKAP, and other so-called “assistance” initiatives that mushroomed without clear legal basis, yet poured money and resources everywhere. Help was abundant because votes were needed. Now that disaster strikes and people are truly in need, the once bottomless “ayuda” fund has vanished into silence.
Even the President himself admitted in a recent interview that he needs to “go to Congress and the Senate” to request additional funds. What the heck? Where did the billions of pesos in unprogrammed funds go? The billions in loans supposedly meant for development and disaster preparedness? Why, suddenly, is there no money for victims—but plenty for corruption and politics?
And where are those noisy party-lists now? The likes of TINGOG Partylist, once so visible in handing out goods and appearing in every photo-op before the elections, are now nowhere to be found. Silent. Dead quiet. Their leader—who happens to be the wife of House Speaker Martin Romualdez—is invisible when the country needs her most. So much for “tingog ng tao”; now, it seems, they’ve lost their voice.
This is the ugly face of selective governance—a government that works only for the cameras and the campaigns, not for the people in crisis. The President proudly claimed, upon signing the 2025 national budget, that it was “corruption-free.” Yet weeks later, he himself admitted that corruption riddled the very same budget. Was this an accidental confession, or a slip of truth too big to hide?
Meanwhile, the local governments—the mayors, governors, and barangay leaders—are the ones truly doing the work. They are helping each other, mobilizing resources, sending their own responders and relief goods to affected areas. This is what happens when the national government fails: the LGUs carry the nation on their shoulders. And let’s give credit where it’s due—Mindanao’s people are resilient. They have long learned to rely on each other when the state fails to show up.
Davao and the rest of Mindanao stand strong, not because of Manila, but in spite of it.
Communities here know what solidarity means. The Visayas and Mindanao connection runs deep—one of compassion, shared struggle, and mutual aid. When the rest of the country looks away, they refuse to abandon each other.
Still, resilience should not be used as an excuse for neglect. The government must not depend on the people’s ability to endure suffering as its fallback plan. It’s time for the national government to wake up and revisit its disaster response strategy. Announcing the sale of ₱20 rice is not a solution—it’s an insult.
If officials are serious about helping, then here’s what real response looks like:
- Deploy immediate search-and-rescue operations within the first 24 hours.
- Provide temporary shelters and emergency water supplies.
- Launch psychosocial interventions for survivors.
- Mobilize emergency repair teams for critical infrastructure.
- Impose price freezes on essential goods and construction materials in affected areas.
- Offer emergency employment, not as a handout, but as a dignified way to rebuild lives.
Those are the priorities that matter—not rice for sale, not empty press releases, not political slogans wrapped in disaster response.
To Secretary Francisco Tiu Laurel Jr., a businessman who knows Mindanao well—please, understand this: your people are not customers right now. They are victims, survivors, and fellow Filipinos in pain. They don’t need a marketing strategy; they need compassion, leadership, and concrete action.
Mindanao doesn’t need your ₱20 rice. It needs a government that values life over optics, relief over rhetoric, and humanity over headlines.
Until then, it will be the local governments—and the people themselves—who will continue doing what the national government should have done from the start: to care, to respond, and to rebuild.