The geopolitical horizon is darkening, and the tremors of war in the Middle East are no longer distant echoes. As the conflict between the US-Israel alliance and Iran threatens to escalate, the economic fallout is poised to hit the Philippine shores with the force of a super typhoon. For us in Bacolod and across Negros Occidental, this is not merely a headline—it is a clear and present danger to our kitchens, our farms, and our very survival.
The logic is as cold as it is certain. Oil and fuel are the lifeblood of a modern economy. When global supply chains are strangled by war, the price of “Input A” (fuel) skyrockets. Because we are an import-dependent nation, this triggers a catastrophic domino effect. Our mechanized farms in the north and south of Negros will see plowing costs double; our artisanal fisherfolk in the coastal barangays will find it too expensive to even start their pump boats.
The “double whammy” arrives when the Peso-to-Dollar exchange rate begins to deteriorate. Since oil is traded in Greenbacks, a weakening Peso means we pay more for the same barrel of oil we bought yesterday. This creates a feedback loop: inflation spirals, the cost of power and food manufacturing surges, and the “disposable income” of the masang Pinoy—already stretched thin—simply evaporates. In economic terms, when the price level outpaces stagnant income, the purchasing power of the average family collapses:
But the crisis isn’t just economic; it is a crisis of trust. Many of us remember the COVID-19 pandemic not just for the health scare, but for the “business opportunities” it provided to some. While the nation was under lockdown, we watched in disbelief as billions in emergency funds were allegedly siphoned through procurement scandals. The “Dynast-Trapos” and their syndicates of contractors and suppliers enriched themselves while the average Filipino queued for a meager ayuda.
Can we trust this same government apparatus to proactively manage the ensuing economic crunch? History suggests otherwise. When the state fails to be the steward of public welfare, the responsibility shifts back to the sovereign people.
This is why I am calling for a unified front—a People’s Economic Council—composed of five vital pillars of our society: The church, the youth, the academe, the business community, and the professionals.
We cannot afford to be passive observers. The Academe must step out of the ivory tower to provide data-driven, transparent “Consumer Price Indexes” that reflect the real cost of living, bypassing sanitized government reports. Our professionals, especially CPAs and lawyers, must act as the watchdogs of transparency, demanding mandatory audits of how fuel excise taxes and contingency funds are utilized.
The business sector must embrace “Compassionate Capitalism,” prioritizing wage protection and localizing supply chains to cut transport costs. Meanwhile, our Youth—digitally savvy and fearless—can leverage technology to “name and shame” hoarders and price manipulators in real-time. Finally, the church remains the moral compass, utilizing its vast parish networks to ensure that no family in the farthest purok goes hungry during the height of the crunch.
In development management, we know that when “trust” in government is low, the “total cost” of survival for the poor becomes unbearable. To lower the cost of living, we must increase the “trust” and “accountability” factors.
We in Bacolod have always been a resilient people, but resilience without proactive management is just a slow march to poverty. We must demand that our local leaders prioritize the “Economics of the Many” over the “Politics of the Few.” If the government will not lead with integrity, then the church, the academe, and the professionals must provide the blueprint.
The storm is coming. We can either wait for the floods to wash away the little we have left, or we can band together now to build a levee of social accountability. It is time to make our presence felt. It is time to move from “Grace” to active “Governance.”*
