Energy Secretary Sharon Garin, in a statement, said the domestic fuel supply remains adequate until mid-May and assured the public that the government is already in talks with its counterpart in countries that produce oil products to also help in ensuring domestic supply.
The shoot-up in the price of fuel — diesel, gasoline and kerosene — is brought about by the ongoing USA, Israel-Iran war. After the attacks on the facilities of Iran, the latter retaliated by closing the Strait of Hormuz, where most of the fuel tankers pass, thus resulting in the disruption of the fuel supply. As analysts put it, there is no oil crisis, only a disruption of the supply chain.
It was reported that the Philippine National Oil Co. (PNOC) and PNOC Exploration Corp. have secured 1.042 million barrels of diesel, or about half of their two-million-barrel target.
Deliveries are being scheduled in phases:
• 142,000 barrels from Japan have arrived in La Union and Batangas;
• 300,000 barrels from Malaysia and Singapore due early April;
• 300,000 barrels from India expected by mid-April; and
• 300,000 barrels from Oman, via Singapore, expected by end-April.
According to Garin, this is a system that they have set up three weeks ago already under the instruction of the President to maintain a stable and sufficient oil supply nationwide.
Our country is no stranger to vulnerability in global energy dynamics. We import the bulk of our fuel such that we are exposed to geopolitical tensions, shipping disruptions, and price volatility. These are structural realities. But how we respond to them — especially in moments of uncertainty — matters just as much as the disruptions themselves.
There is, at present, no clear indication that we face an immediate fuel supply crisis. That distinction is important. Because the difference between preparedness and panic lies in timing.
Energy Secretary Garin defended her statement that there is no oil crisis, saying there is ample supply of fuel albeit at record-high prices. She also rejected possible fuel rationing similar to scenarios during the 1970s energy crisis.
In an interview at dzMM, Garin said “walang krisis sa supply sa ibang bagay. Presyo lang talaga kasi hindi talaga makokontrol ng DOE (Department of Energy) o kahit ng oil companies yung international market kasi kapag krisis, ang iniisip ko, mawawalan tayo ng supply pero hindi pa naman.”
But a recent call from my wife in Melbourne that carried a tone I have learned not to ignore gave me a different perspective. It was not panic, but it was close. She spoke of long lines at petrol stations, of some pumps running dry, of limits quietly imposed per vehicle. A few stations, she said, had simply closed for the day.
Whether these were isolated disruptions or early signs of something broader almost seemed beside the point. Because what lingered was not the shortage itself, but the feeling of it. And that feeling, history tells us, can be far more dangerous than the shortage it anticipates.
Governments often mistake visibility for control. Announcing fuel rationing may look decisive on paper, but on the ground, it functions as an alarm bell. It tells the public not that the situation is under control, but that it is slipping away.
And once that signal is sent, no amount of reassurance can fully take it back. We have seen this pattern before. Not always in fuel, but in crises of confidence where the gap between perception and reality becomes the real battleground. A poorly timed policy does not calm the public. It validates their fear.
In that sense, premature rationing is not just a response to scarcity. It can be the very mechanism that creates it.
In cities like Cebu, Davao and in other places, where daily movement depends heavily on road transport — jeepneys, motorcycles, delivery trucks — the impact of even a perceived shortage would be immediate. Lines would not just form; they would spill into already congested roads. Prices would ripple through public transport fares and market goods within days even with assurances from government agencies.
We do not need an actual supply collapse to feel the effects. We only need the belief that one is coming.
Preparedness means building reserves, strengthening supply chains, and communicating clearly with the public. It means targeted support for sectors that are most vulnerable — transport, agriculture, logistics — without triggering unnecessary alarm. It is measured, deliberate and quiet.
Panic, on the other hand, is loud. It is reactive. It is when drastic measures are announced before they are truly needed, sending a message that scarcity is no longer hypothetical, but imminent.
Rationing may indeed have its place. In extreme scenarios, it can be necessary, even unavoidable. But it must remain a last resort — deployed not at the first sign of strain, but at the clear and present reality of shortage.
Because once people begin to believe that fuel will run out, behavior changes instantly. Demand spikes — not because of actual need, but because of fear. And fear, unlike fuel, spreads without limits.
What my wife witnessed in Melbourne may well pass. Deliveries will arrive. Stations will reopen. But the episode offers a quiet lesson: even in stable economies, even in well-managed systems, it does not take much to unsettle the balance between supply and confidence.
And that is the real challenge for any government — not simply to secure resources, but to manage belief.
In the end, it is not the empty pump that breaks a system — it is the moment people expect it to be empty. The most dangerous shortage any government can create is not of fuel — but of public trust.