THERE was a time when the small town in the Philippines embodied the best of Filipino life.
In the late 1970s, I grew up in a small town in Nueva Ecija with my grandparents. As my parents were busy working in Manila, they found it convenient to leave me in the care of my grandparents during summers. This allowed me to experience the idyllic life of a small town
— playing with street urchins, climbing santol trees and swimming in the pristine Minalungao waters. It was an exhilarating experience, and perhaps the greatest childhood memory that I treasure to this day.
We would wake at 5 a.m. before dawn and proceed to church to hear mass. At 6 a.m., we would pass by the town market to buy fresh fish and fruits, where my grandmother also caught up on the latest gossip. At 7a.m., we would return home and have breakfast together with our household help. By 9 a.m., I would tag along with my grandfather in his old Toyota pickup to visit our farm, where we grew rice and vegetables and raised poultry and pigs. Practically all our food, except fish, came from our farm, while the surplus was sold in the public market. Our household was almost self-sufficient, and we hardly bought dry goods from groceries in Gapan.
I was forced to take a short siesta after lunch after which I was allowed to play with my friends under the afternoon sun. We would run around the backyard, use slingshots to knock down fruits and birds, and climb to the highest branches of mango trees. At dusk, we would proceed to the town plaza to watch the elders play chess, laugh at weird people debating and cheer on teenagers playing basketball and volleyball. Hawkers sold fried bananas, camote, corn on the cob, buko and melon juice and the ever-popular ice drops. Kids today would not even know them.
This idyllic town created spaces where people met, talked and exchanged ideas. Issues affecting the town were discussed by the elders in the plaza, while children darted about in different directions. Sometimes, the town mayor would join them, listen to their concerns and treat them to kakanin, goto and other native delicacies. Everyone knew everyone, and the sense of community was organic and deeply embedded.
As time passed, the country was engulfed in economic and political turmoil. The debt crises of the early 1980s, soaring inflation and the assassination of Sen. Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr. in 1983 shook the nation. As the prices of farm inputs surged, few of our townsfolk were inspired to invest in agriculture. Some left to work overseas to support their families during the crisis, while others sought opportunities in the cities.
Soon, fewer people were visiting the public markets or spending time in the town plaza. Petty crimes, like theft, fights and assaults, became more common. Shooting incidents between criminals and police erupted and disturbed the peaceful town as lawlessness spread alongside unemployment and rising poverty. More young people lost interest in their parents’ farms and took refuge in urban centers, such as Metro Manila. Vast tracts of farmlands were abandoned or converted into grazing pastures. Worse, vote buying became rampant as elections became opportunities for people to make easy money.
Our idyllic town has been polarized by economic and political upheavals that underpinned the country’s transition from authoritarian rule to democracy. Some local politicians took advantage and won elections by buying votes with kickbacks from public projects. Before long, criminal syndicates reportedly found refuge in our town under the protection of local officials and rogue police officers. Sadly, agriculture and related businesses were abandoned. Much of what we now consume comes from neighboring provinces or imported from China. The town’s economy relies heavily on OFW remittances, while many of those left behind wasted them on consumption goods, gambling, alcohol and even illegal drugs.
The story of my idyllic town, which began as a symbol of Filipino life and gradually descended into disarray, resonates with many similar towns across the Philippines. Somehow along the way, the hard work, self-sufficiency, and sense of community that once defined these places disappeared. Filipinos slowly lost the identity that connected them to their neighbors. And the idyllic town became a fading memory in our national consciousness.
Perhaps, what we truly lost is not the idyllic town only, but the values that made us a nation. Until we find our way back to these values, the idyllic town will be difficult to restore and relive on who we once were as Filipinos.
