By Herman M. Lagon
THERE was a time when a one-peso fuel hike could already send transport and progressive groups to the streets — whistles, placards, radio voices full of urgency. Many Boomers and Gen Xers remember that. Today, diesel has crossed P100 in some areas, gasoline is also on its way, and the reaction feels different. Not calmer — just more tired. People still complain — in jeepneys, faculty rooms, sari-sari stores, and social media chats filled with pump prices — but there is also a quiet resignation, as if rising costs have become something we simply absorb.
This week’s spike was no small bump. The Department of Energy projected increases from P12.90 to P16.60 per liter for gasoline and P20.40 to P23.90 for diesel. Some diesel prices have already gone past P110, threatening to double the February 2026 level price. That is not routine anymore. That is a real hit on everyday budgets.
For teachers, this is not an abstract energy issue. It shows up in small, daily decisions. A tricycle fare goes up before payday. A teacher brings packed lunch all week because transport already took the food budget. A guidance counselor postpones a home visit because fuel now feels expensive. Even nearby, the canteen trims portions, the photocopy shop adds a few pesos, and the fish vendor quietly explains why prices climbed. Economists call it inflation, but people feel it without needing graphs. Political scientist Rogelio Alicor Panao and IBON Foundation note that transport shocks spread quickly across prices, while the peso’s buying power keeps weakening. Wages, meanwhile, barely move.
The harder truth is that relief is not coming soon. The country imports almost all its oil, and disruptions in the Strait of Hormuz — through which about a fifth of global supply passes — quickly reach us. Reuters reports crude rising past $100 per barrel, with Southeast Asia scrambling to respond. China’s fuel export ban adds more pressure. The future does not look like a quick recovery. It looks like a long stretch of uncertainty. This is what unsettles people — not just the rising costs, but the sense that the road ahead stays rough.
The trouble with the official response is that it looks like crisis management, not foresight. Subsidies, staggered hikes, shorter workweeks, and possible tax suspension may buy time, and for some families, that matters. But they are still short-term fixes. They do not solve the bigger weakness: we remain too exposed to imported oil, too thin in reserves, and too slow in preparing before trouble arrives.
That is also why the bicycle-and-carpool advice rubbed many people the wrong way. In theory, it sounds practical. On our roads, it can sound almost unserious. Not everyone has safe bike lanes, matching schedules, nearby coworkers, or the luxury of a simple commute. Detached advice is not always wrong. It just sounds hollow when it forgets the road people actually travel.
Still, the bigger issue is not one awkward sound bite. It is the policy beneath it. The Downstream Oil Industry Deregulation Act of 1998 (Republic Act 8479) promised competition and protection. But moments like this make people ask: protected by whom? The Department of Energy admits it cannot cap prices under the law unless emergency powers are invoked. Malacañang says changes are up to Congress. In simple terms, when global shocks hit, the state cannot move fast. That does not mean every increase is abuse — global oil and shipping costs are rising. But it does mean consumers are left watching prices climb with little control. Transparency remains thin, and thin transparency offers little comfort at the pump.
The tax debate is just as complicated. There is growing pressure to suspend or cut fuel excise taxes, and the House has begun moving. IBON and others support this. The logic is clear: ease the burden now. But economists warn that broad tax cuts often help car owners more than commuters. Targeted subsidies may better protect those who need it most. This is not about ideology. It is about design. Who gets relief first? Who benefits more? Meanwhile, workers are told to wait while prices rise in real time. Labor groups are now pushing for a P200 wage hike, pointing out the obvious: fuel, fares, and food keep climbing, while wages stand still.
And then there is the global layer many prefer to soften. A large part of this crisis traces back to decisions beyond our borders — especially American power used recklessly. Donald Trump’s approach toward Iran has leaned on spectacle and escalation, mistaking force for strength. The recent US-Israeli strikes have not only caused loss of life but shaken global energy and trade. For the US, it may be strategy. For countries like ours, it shows up as higher diesel, rising fares, and tighter household budgets. Smaller economies are left absorbing the cost of decisions they had no hand in making.
What makes this harder to accept is how predictable it all feels. A crisis erupts somewhere else, and we go through the same routine here — panic, patchwork, press briefings, then forgetfulness. The Institute for Climate and Sustainable Cities has warned that this cycle is not new. We have simply learned to live with it. We are still too dependent on imported oil, still thin on reserves, still slow to invest in better options. We keep reacting, rarely preparing.
This oil shock means everyday life will get heavier — transport, food, tuition, and bills all inching upward while incomes stay the same. Families will adjust, again. But the deeper issue remains: we keep treating long-term problems with short-term responses. The public is not asking for clever advice. It is asking for leaders who see the bigger picture and act on it. Because in the end, this is not just about fuel. It is about whether we are willing to prepare, or just keep reacting.