Opinions - Iloilo Metropolitan Times

Ricah Trinidad, Hermie Rivera asked me to sue Freddie Roach

Alex Vidal — Tue, 22 Sep 2026 11:46:24 +0000

“I’m not afraid of death; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”―Woody Allen

I MET the late sports journalist and columnist Ricardo “Recah” Trinidad for the first time in Las Vegas on December 3, 2008.

It started with a call I received from then 65-year-old Philippine sports journalism icon while I was inside the hotel room intended for accredited reporters covering the Manny Pacquiao vs Oscar De La Hoya 12-round welterweight tussle dubbed “Dream Match” at the MGM Grand on December 6, 2008.

“Hello? Is this Alex? Alex Vidal? Si Ricah ito. Ricah Trinidad of Daily Inquirer,” the caller enthused. “Sabi ni Hermie (Rivera) ikaw daw ang may hawak ng susi sa room.” (Hermie said you’re the one in charge of the room key.)

“Yes, sir. This is Alex Vidal. Where are you po?” I answered.

“Nandito ako sa lobby (of the MGM Grand). May bakante pa ba diyan? Sa floor lang ako matutulog, don’t worry,” Trinidad added. (I’m here in the lobby. Is there a space for me inside the room? I’ll sleep on the floor, don’t worry.)

When Trinidad went upstairs, I offered him the bed, a custom 14-inch pillow-top hybrid mattress. “No. Dito lang ako sa floor. Marami na kayo at late ako eh,” the veteran Filipino sports columnist insisted.

“Ako na lang sa floor,” I asserted. “Nakakahiya po sa inyo.”

-o0o-

Trinidad refused, insisting he was “comfortable” on the floor.

Even if Hermie Rivera, then 69, a San Francisco-based boxing analyst and manager of former WBA bantamweight king Luisito Espinosa, followed upstairs and goaded him to occupy the bed, Trinidad stood his ground: he belonged on the floor, the veteran writer asserted.

Trinidad, who earlier wrote critical stories about Pacquiao, probably knew he was outside the kulambo, so to speak.

He felt Team Pacquiao wouldn’t accommodate him in the MGM Grand thus he asked for his kumpare Rivera’s “intercession” to join us in the room. Nobody from Team Pacquiao said Trinidad wasn’t allowed to join us.

How did I become a key holder? Two days earlier (December 1, 2008), Team Pacquiao arrived in a caravan in the glitzy Nevada city shortly after 9 o’clock in the evening after a four-hour drive from Los Angeles.

After dinner inside Pacquiao’s MGM Grand suite, the then 29-year-old eight-time world champion distributed more than a dozen room key cards, valid for a week, to members of the caravan, including the accredited sportswriters from the Philippines.

Pacquiao handed to me the room key cards for the “photographers” (that’s how he called press people who accompanied his team then). The room was for three other sports writers from the Philippine Daily Inquirer, Manila Bulletin, Philippine Star, and yours truly.

Rivera, who had difficult time to join us, stayed with us, nevertheless.

Meanwhile, while inside the hotel room, Trinidad and Rivera discussed the incident where Freddie Roach, Pacquiao’s famed trainer, scolded and pushed me over an article I wrote when he saw me outside the elevators of the MGM Grand on July 25, 2008, or five months earlier.

-o0o-

The incident between me and Roach happened a day before the 12-round WBA welterweight title duel between Antonio Margarito and Miguel Angel Cotto at the MGM Grand on July 26, 2008. I was accredited to cover the event.

Both Trinidad and Rivera had contacted Gregorio “Sheriff” Asuncion, Pacquiao’s former bodyguard, in Covina, California to refer the incident involving me and Roach to a lawyer in Los Angeles.

Asuncion, then 51, had earlier filed an unlimited civil case suit before the Superior Court of Los Angeles against Roach for allegedly mauling Asuncion inside Roach’s owned Wildcard Boxing Gym in Hollywood, Los Angeles on October 20, 2008.

I learned about the incident involving Roach and Asuncion from Texas-based pediatrician Allan Recto, who called me to relay the news when I was in Iloilo City in the Philippines sometime in November 2008.

Meanwhile, lawyer Robert H. McNeill, Jr. of Ivie, McNeill & Wyatt, an LA-based law firm, contacted me while I was on a train in San Diego, California sometime in June 2009. And the rest was history.

Rivera died on January 15, 2016 at 77, while McNeill Jr. died in April 2016 at 75.

Trinidad, on the other hand, died on September 13, or two years after the death of his sports journalist son Chino. He was 83.

Alex P. Vidal, who is now based in New York City, used to be the editor-in-chief of two leading daily newspapers in Iloilo, Philippines.—Ed

The post Ricah Trinidad, Hermie Rivera asked me to sue Freddie Roach first appeared on Iloilo Metropolitan Times.

If Leni changes her mind

Herman Lagon — Tue, 22 Sep 2026 01:12:39 +0000

Leni Robredo has already said she is not running for national office in 2028. She wants to stay in Naga City and seek another term as mayor. That should ordinarily settle the matter. Philippine politics, however, has a stubborn relationship with the word “no.” The moment a survey places a reluctant politician within striking distance of Malacañang, somebody inevitably asks, “Pero paano kung magbago ang isip?” Robredo herself was unequivocal in April, saying she was sure she would not join the national elections.

So, indulge the hypothetical. Suppose circumstances change. Suppose the calls become louder, a credible coalition forms, and Robredo eventually says yes. Can she win? The careful answer is: yes, she could. But nobody can responsibly say today that she would. The distinction matters. Pulse Asia’s mid-2026 survey had Sara Duterte leading Robredo, 51% to 43%, in a hypothetical head-to-head race.

What is remarkable is that Robredo remains competitive while repeatedly saying she is not interested. She is not campaigning, forming a slate, or asking people to wait for her, yet many voters still do. Pulse Asia president Ronald Holmes believes she could become competitive if she changed her mind. That says something about the support she still carries.

Still, support must eventually become organization. Duterte has already declared and can spend the coming years building alliances and machinery. Robredo, if she enters, would have to catch up. The volunteer spirit of 2022 would matter, but so would resources, strategy, local networks, and discipline.

Most of all, she would need to persuade. Another Robredo campaign cannot be 2022 with fresh posters. Her loyal supporters are already loyal. The real contest is for Filipinos who rejected her before—those who found her distant, weak, elitist, partisan, or simply less appealing than the alternative. Winning means reaching beyond the choir. It comes from listening to people who do not.

This is also why supporters should resist treating every encouraging survey as vindication and every unfavorable one as suspicious. Polls are snapshots produced through particular questions, samples, dates, and conditions. They are useful precisely because they sometimes tell us what we would rather not hear. A survey does not become scientific when our candidate rises and “fake” when she falls. Methodology does not change with the color of the campaign shirt.

There is one more complication: people do not always judge political information neutrally. Little, Schnakenberg, and Turner (2022) found that motivated reasoning can weaken democratic accountability by making voters less responsive to evidence about political performance. In the Philippines, that tendency finds plenty of digital fuel. The Reuters Institute’s 2025 Philippines report noted that social media remained the country’s preferred news source, while false or misleading narratives and coordinated attacks intensified amid political polarization (Chua, 2025). By 2028, the contest will not just be over candidates. It will also be over reality itself.

That is why I find the question “Can Leni beat Sara?” less interesting than it initially sounds. A presidential election is not Pacquiao versus Márquez with national policy added between rounds. If Robredo runs, she deserves scrutiny. What exactly would she propose on food prices, wages, education, health care, agriculture, jobs, infrastructure, corruption, and the West Philippine Sea? Who would finance and surround her campaign? What compromises would coalition-building require? What did she learn from losing in 2022? What has her return to local governance taught her? A returning candidate should not receive a nostalgia exemption.

The same scrutiny belongs to Duterte. Her lead establishes political strength, not automatic fitness for office. Voters should examine her record, policy positions, handling of public funds, leadership style, alliances, response to criticism, impeachment portfolio, and plans for governing a country far larger and more complicated than any political stronghold. Senator Risa Hontiveros, who says she is seriously considering a presidential run, deserves the same treatment. So does anyone else who eventually enters the race. A familiar surname should open questions, not close them.

Robredo would also face the delicate problem of coalition politics. National elections are rarely won through ideological purity. Yesterday’s opponent can become tomorrow’s ally, and sometimes that is simply how democratic governing coalitions are built. The real test is what must be surrendered in exchange. Working with former rivals on sound policy may be statesmanship. Looking away from corruption, abuse, dishonesty, or injustice because an old adversary has become electorally useful is something else. Coalitions may change. Non-negotiables should not.

There is another reason I hesitate to predict a Robredo victory. We are still more than a year and a half away from the election. Food prices can change. Governments can succeed or stumble. New scandals can erupt. International crises can intervene. The current impeachment proceedings may help define the political landscape. Candidates can rise, implode, withdraw, reconcile, split, or surprise us. A viral video can alter a week; a national crisis can rearrange an election. Anyone confidently declaring today who will win in May 2028 is describing certainty the evidence simply does not provide. The source material itself treats Robredo’s continued support as significant despite her refusal to run, not as proof of eventual victory.

So yes, if Leni Robredo changes her mind, she could make the 2028 race genuinely competitive. The numbers suggest she has a constituency from which to build. They do not guarantee that the constituency is large enough, expandable enough, or organized enough to win. More importantly, those who once supported her should not begin with “Leni pa rin” and stop thinking there. Duterte supporters should not do that either. Neither should supporters of Hontiveros, Aquino, Marcos, Tulfo, Romualdez, Padilla, or anybody else.

By 2028, I hope the more useful question is not simply “Can Leni win?” It should be “Who has earned the right to govern?” I may admire a candidate, defend a candidate, or even hope that candidate changes her mind. But no politician should own my vote. Good governance, social justice, accountability, competence, human dignity, the rule of law, and truth should outlive every candidacy. Candidates may change. Our non-negotiables should not.

Doc H fondly describes himself as a ”student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.

The post If Leni changes her mind first appeared on Iloilo Metropolitan Times.

Defeating the culture of corruption

Ike Señeres — Wed, 16 Sep 2026 17:51:54 +0000

In Filipino, the word “kalakalan” evokes honest commerce — trade, exchange, livelihood. But over time, a darker meaning crept in. Now it often describes not legitimate business, but a system where every transaction has a price — a bribe, a standard kickback expected, part of a well-understood “standard operating procedure” (SOP).

That is the corruption culture: a silent expectation that government approval, permits, infrastructure contracts — nothing moves without a price tag.

Yes, recent scandals in agencies like the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) garnered public outrage. With new leadership, perhaps those abuses can be curbed. But even if the DPWH cleans up, do we honestly believe corruption will disappear from every agency and LGU across the archipelago?

Unless we dismantle the very architecture that sustains corruption — discretion without transparency — we are only permuting its location, not ending it.

Automation: One Potential Cure

With my background in information and communications technology (ICT), I’ve seen how automation removes discretion. If permits, licenses, contract bids — even social services — follow digital, algorithmic workflows, human discretion (and thus human greed) becomes unnecessary.

In a system where a permit is approved or denied by clear algorithmic criteria and publicly visible audit logs, asking for a “fee” is redundant — and suspicious.

Of course, it is naive to expect all Filipinos will suddenly stop paying bribes. It’s comparable to hoping that if fewer people sell their votes, vote-buying will vanish. But perhaps if we combine automation, education, and economic opportunity, lower incentives for corruption can emerge.

When people are financially secure, politically empowered, and digitally aware — maybe then the old “kalakalan” mindset will be harder to sustain.

Systems Approach to Defeat Corruption

Corruption is not just a problem of “bad people.” It’s a cultural disease deeply embedded in systems — from governance to social norms. To defeat it, we need structural transformation, not just punitive laws.

Core Strategies

Reframe corruption as a cultural problem, not just a crime. Encourage the narrative of dignity, honor, and relational trust instead of discreet transactions.

Build “modular integrity systems”:

Barangay-level integrity councils monitoring local projects.

Transparent procurement templates with public documentation.

Community scorecards to monitor delivery in health, education, and infrastructure.

Incentivize honesty:

Recognize “clean governance champions” at city or barangay level.

Link grants, development funds, and loan access to demonstrated transparency.

Strengthen citizen oversight:

Provide digital crowdsourcing platforms where communities can report and monitor ongoing projects.

Conduct participatory audits of public works — from school buildings to farm-to-market roads.

Protect whistleblowers and reform enforcement:

Safeguard whistleblower identities and impose rotation of officers to avoid capture by local elites.

Ensure independent oversight beyond the same institutions being audited.

Mapping the System — Where Corruption Thrives

System Node

Common Corruption Risks

Recommended Countermeasure

Procurement & Bidding

Kickbacks, bid-rigging, ghost projects

Transparent bidding, citizen observers

Public Service Delivery

Nepotism, favoritism in hiring or procurement

Merit-based hiring, community scorecards

Law Enforcement & Regulation

Selective justice, protection rackets

Independent oversight, rotation of officers

Civic & Cultural Norms

“Pakikisama” used to excuse graft

Promote dignity, accountability, public interest values

Cultural Restoration: Values Over Shortcuts

Real change demands more than systems — it needs values. We must revive the roots of bayanihan (collective duty), paninindigan (principled stand), paggalang (respect), and integrity.

We should embed in education curricula and civic programs the understanding that corruption — however normalized — is a betrayal of community dignity. And we should celebrate role models, people like unsung civic leaders or honest public servants, whose lives reflect integrity rather than shortcuts.

The Path Forward

Defeating corruption does not end with catching a few big crooks. It is about changing the operating system of our society — from one built on shady deals and opaque discretion, to one built on transparency, accountability, and dignity.

If you ask me: yes, we should pursue automation. Yes, we should demand citizen oversight. Yes, we should build institutional safeguards.

But above all, we must decide: do we want a nation where “kalakalan” still means bribes and shortcuts — or one where commerce, governance, and public service mean honest trade, fair governance, and human dignity?

Because until we abandon the old SOP, we can clean up one agency — but the system remains.

RAMON IKE V. SENERES
www.facebook.com/ike.seneres iseneres@yahoo.com senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/09-16-2026

The post Defeating the culture of corruption first appeared on Iloilo Metropolitan Times.

The weight of staying relevant in media

Herman Lagon — Wed, 16 Sep 2026 17:46:32 +0000

There was something about that evening that did not quite sit like a celebration. It was supposed to be one—silver anniversaries of local newspapers usually are. There were familiar faces, polite applause, the kind of warmth that comes from shared history. But when UP Visayas Chancellor Clement Camposano began to speak, the tone shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough to make you listen a little more closely.

It did not feel like a speech meant to flatter. It felt more like someone laying things out carefully, almost gently, but without avoiding the difficult parts. And if you stayed with it long enough, you began to sense it—that quiet discomfort when you realize the thing you have trusted for years might already be changing beneath you.

He started with something simple, almost obvious: traditional media is no longer where most people live their daily information lives. Newspapers, radio, television—they used to hold things together. Not perfectly, but enough. There was a shared space, a common reference point. You could assume that people, more or less, were seeing the same things.

That is harder to say now.

These days, information moves differently. It does not wait to be sought out. It shows up—on your phone, in between messages, while you are half-paying attention. And what shows up for you is not the same as what shows up for someone else. It depends on what you click, what you linger on, what the system quietly learns about you over time.

Camposano said something that stayed with me longer than I expected: a newspaper assumes a community; a social media account assumes a network.

At first, it sounds like a small distinction. But the more you think about it, the more it stretches. A community carries a sense of responsibility—you write knowing people depend on you. A network is different. It revolves around the individual. What keeps you scrolling. What keeps you engaged. The center shifts, almost quietly, from “What do people need to know?” to “What will people respond to?”

You see it in small ways.

A teacher checks her phone before class and sees a set of headlines shaped by her past clicks. Another teacher, just across the hall, sees something else entirely. A student follows a thread that leads to another, then another, until what feels like “news” becomes something more personal, more selective. No one announces this shift. It just happens, gradually, until it feels normal.

There are studies that try to map this out—how algorithms curate content, how echo chambers form, how people begin to see only what reinforces what they already believe (Mugil & Kenzie, 2025). But you do not really need the study to notice it. You hear it in conversations that feel narrower than before. In disagreements that escalate faster. In how quickly outrage travels.

Camposano was careful not to turn this into a simple warning against technology. That would have been too easy. Instead, he treated it like something we are all already inside of. Technology is not the problem, he seemed to suggest. It is what we do with it. Or maybe more precisely, what it begins to do to us when we are not paying attention.

There is a certain honesty in that.

Because it is true—these same platforms that spread misinformation can also mobilize people. The same tools that distort can also expose. We have seen both. The tension is not going away.

And then there is the part that hits closer to home.

When CNN Philippines closed, it felt less like an isolated event and more like a signal. Not loud, but clear enough. If an institution like that can struggle to stay afloat, what does that say about the rest? Especially the smaller ones. The community papers that do not have the same resources, but often carry stories no one else bothers to tell.

That is where the question becomes more difficult.

Camposano did not suggest holding on to the old ways out of nostalgia. He did not frame this as a battle between print and digital. Instead, he talked about something more demanding: change your footing. Do not just move into digital space—belong there. Understand it. Work within it. Shape it, if possible.

That kind of shift is not just technical. It asks for something deeper. A change in how journalism sees itself.

And yet, even as he spoke about change, he drew a line around what must not change.

Truth. Accountability. Responsibility.

He did not linger on these words, but they did not need emphasis. In a space where information moves fast and not always carefully, these things matter more, not less. If everything becomes fluid, then something has to remain steady. Otherwise, the entire structure starts to feel unreliable.

This is where the story of Maria Ressa and Rappler quietly fits in.

Rappler did not succeed by pretending nothing had changed. It stepped into the digital space fully. It used the tools available. But it did not let those tools dictate its purpose. It held on to its role, even when that came with pressure, even when it was inconvenient.

It is not a perfect model. Nothing is. But it shows that adaptation does not have to mean compromise.

Closer to home, you see smaller versions of this.

A local paper that still covers a barangay issue no national outlet will pick up. A radio station that people trust because it has been there long enough to earn it. These are not outdated. They are rooted. And that matters, especially now, when trust feels harder to come by.

There is data that supports this—the Reuters Institute, for example, still finds higher trust levels in traditional media compared to social media. But even without the numbers, you feel it. In who people believe when something serious happens. In where they turn when they need something verified.

So the challenge is not as simple as replacing one with the other.

It is learning how to hold both, without losing your sense of purpose in the process.

For teachers, for students, for anyone trying to make sense of information today, this is not an abstract issue. It shapes how people think. What they believe. What they question—or do not question.

Camposano did not end with a neat solution. There was no checklist, no easy direction. Just a kind of clarity that settles slowly.

Some media institutions will not survive. That much seems likely. But the ones that do will not be the ones that resist change entirely, nor the ones that chase every trend.

They will be the ones that know, clearly enough, what they are there for—and are willing to adjust everything else around that.

And maybe that is where the real weight of the conversation sits.

Not in whether media is changing—we already know it is. But in whether those who shape it are ready to decide, quietly but firmly, what they refuse to lose along the way.

Doc H fondly describes himself as a ‘student of and for life’ who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world that is grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views herewith do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.

The post The weight of staying relevant in media first appeared on Iloilo Metropolitan Times.

Who are you calling?

Alex Vidal — Wed, 16 Sep 2026 16:09:23 +0000

“Sometimes the only way to stay sane is to go a little crazy.”―Susanna Kaysen, Girl, Interrupted

IF I hadn’t been invited to attend the In-Person Adult Mental Health First Aid (MHFA) training at the PSS Home Care in Whitestone, New York City on August 24, I wouldn’t know what 988 is all about, or why and when to call it. I beg your pardon.

Now that we are celebrating the Suicide Prevention Month, it’s imperative that we understand why there’s a need to remember 988; why the three numbers may play a key role even after September.

What’s the difference between 911 or 988, in the first place?

What we know is in the US and Canada, 911 is the primary emergency telephone number for police, fire, and medical assistance; we call 911 for immediate physical danger.
On the other hand, we call or text 988 for mental health, emotional distress, or substance use crises.

Real-time global estimates put the number of suicides at over 480,000 to 720,000+ for the year, though exact official national totals for 2026 are not yet finalized, according to Worldmeter, which tracks an estimated real-time running total exceeding 718,000 global suicides for the year based on World Health Organization (WHO) models.

-o0o-

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reports that annual U.S. suicides historically average around 48,000 to 49,000 deaths per year but finalized complete data for the current year takes many months to process and verify.

Data show 5.5 percent of U.S. adults have serious thoughts of suicide each year, while 93,452 people were connected with the NAMI HelpLine in 2025. There were 3 in 4 people who contacted 988 report received the help they needed.

If we or someone we know is struggling or in crisis, help is available by calling or texting 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (in the US and Canada), available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Services are free and confidential, according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI).

NAMI recognizes Suicide Prevention Month as a time to raise awareness, spread hope, and spark meaningful action around one of the most urgent mental health issues of our time each September.

Its goal is to ensure that individuals, friends, and families have access to the tools, resources, and support they need to talk openly about suicide prevention, recognize warning signs, and seek help.

NAMI emphasize that reaching out for support can be the start of a new journey forward.

-o0o-

“Whether you are experiencing thoughts of suicide or supporting a loved one, there is help available. Take time today to explore help options, learn about contributing risks to suicide, download resources, and more,” NAMI stated in its website.

It was Jeanne Cacciatore, program director of Family and Children’s Association (FCA) Senior MH Awareness Training Program, Elder Abuse EMDT and Safe Observant Senior Program (SOS), who explained to MHFA participants that a skilled counselor will say hello, introduce themselves, and ask if we are safe when we are connected to 988.

They ask about our safety, and will be calm and comforting, listen to us, provide support, and may also share helpful resources.

According to NAMI, suicide is still too often met with silence, stigma, or shame.

“At NAMI, we believe that silence should never be the response to someone’s pain. That’s why we’re working tirelessly to change that. This September, you can be the difference,” explained NAMI.

“With one conversation, asking someone how they’re really doing — and being ready to truly listen—can save lives. Because here’s what we know: No one has to face this alone. Help exists. Healing is possible. And all it can take is for one person to start a conversation.”

Alex P. Vidal, who is now based in New York City, used to be the editor-in-chief of two leading daily newspapers in Iloilo, Philippines.—Ed

The post Who are you calling? first appeared on Iloilo Metropolitan Times.

What is fake news?

Ike Señeres — Fri, 11 Sep 2026 22:01:50 +0000

What is fake news? The simple answer is: it is not real news. But that only raises another question: what, then, is real news? In an era where rumors travel faster than facts and anonymous posts are treated like revelations, we need to revisit the fundamentals.

Fake news is false or misleading information packaged to look like journalism. It copies the tone, style, and authority of legitimate news—but without the discipline, verification, or accountability that define real reporting. Meanwhile, real news is factual, verified, and produced under professional standards, with a clear author, a responsible editor, and a traceable process.

The fastest way to separate the fake from the real? Look at the source.
No author? Not news.
No editor? Not news.
No institutional accountability? Fake—by default.

We see a lot of this happening every day. Some innocent public officials, even some private businessmen are being targeted in the social media for no reason, and we have no way of knowing where the attacks are coming from.

These reports have no author and no editor, yet it accuses their targets of involvement in some anomalies or scams simply by guilt by association—sometimes due to rumor mongering or even gossiping. This is not journalism. This is conjecture dressed up as reporting.

Photojournalist Rick Rocamora makes an essential point: we, the public, must also take responsibility. If we are unsure of a story’s accuracy, we should not repost it. One check is simple—do reputable outlets also carry it? If not, treat it like a suspicious text message: delete, ignore, move on.

Ordinarily, journalists have the right to protect their sources. But they do not have the right to hide their own names. A reporter stands by his story; an editor stands behind the reporter. Without those names, there is no accountability—just anonymous slander.

So what do we do when confronted with author-less, editor-less content?
We call it what it is: fake news. And we do not amplify it.

Meanwhile, the victims find themselves subjected to trial by publicity—attacked by phantom authors and invisible editors. How does one defend themselves against ghosts?

There is an old story about how banks train tellers to detect counterfeit bills. They don’t start with the fakes. They start with the real ones. Learn the authentic first, and the counterfeits reveal themselves easily.

Perhaps that’s what we must do with news. Let’s train ourselves to recognize the real:

Real news has verifiable sources.

Real news names its author and editor.

Real news follows ethical codes.

Real news corrects itself when wrong.

Fake news, on the other hand, thrives on anonymity, sensationalism, and distortion. It may be political. It may be financial. It may simply be malicious. But what it aims to do is the same everywhere: confuse, manipulate, and divide.

Fake news is not new. The world was already dealing with hoaxes as early as the 1835 “Great Moon Hoax,” which convinced people that astronomers had discovered life on the moon. In 1938, Orson Welles’ radio broadcast of War of the Worlds sparked panic among listeners who believed Martians were invading. And in modern times, the 2016 U.S. elections turned “fake news” into a global headline.

Today, social media has multiplied the problem a thousandfold. The tools of dissemination are more powerful than ever, and the gatekeepers fewer than ever.

So the burden falls not just on journalists, but on us as citizens.
Before we click “share,” let’s ask:

Is it sourced? Is it verified? Is it real?

If not, let’s do the responsible thing—and stop the spread of counterfeit truth.

RAMON IKE V. SENERES
www.facebook.com/ike.seneres iseneres@yahoo.com senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/09-05-2026

The post What is fake news? first appeared on Iloilo Metropolitan Times.

Zero hiring for DepEd teachers?

Herman Lagon — Fri, 11 Sep 2026 21:55:55 +0000

Imagine an ordinary public-school classroom on a Monday morning. The chairs are there. The board is there. Dozens of children are waiting. One needs help reading, another is lost in fractions, two are whispering at the back, and somebody has not eaten breakfast. The bell rings anyway. Somewhere far from that classroom, a government spreadsheet carries a remarkably neat figure for hiring new teachers in the proposed 2027 budget: zero.

That zero deserves objection, although it deserves accuracy, too. Education Secretary Sonny Angara confirmed during House budget deliberations that funding for DepEd’s teacher recruitment program in the proposed 2027 National Expenditure Program was reduced to zero. DepEd is seeking ₱4.29 billion to hire 14,274 teachers. This year, it received enough funding to hire 32,000, above its annual average of around 20,000. Angara hopes Congress will restore the allocation as the budget moves through the legislative process. That distinction matters. Zero is where the proposal begins; it is not necessarily where the final 2027 budget will end.

But the obvious question remains: Why begin at zero?

Budgets are complicated things. Education has to pay for classrooms, textbooks, feeding programs, technology, counselors, teacher promotions, special education, school safety, and learning recovery. No budget can fund every request in full. There are encouraging items in the proposal, including funding for teacher and school-head promotions and additional school counselors. But when the education department itself identifies thousands of teachers it still needs, leaving teacher recruitment unfunded raises an uncomfortable question about what “priority” means once speeches become spreadsheets.

The issue is bigger than employment. I can imagine the newly licensed teacher holding a PRC ID after four years of education courses, practice teaching, voluntary works, sleepless LET review sessions, and perhaps a family celebration when the results finally came out. Saan ako mag-a-apply ngayon? is a fair question. Yet government does not owe every education graduate a public-school job. The stronger argument is simpler: if schools need teachers, learners deserve enough teachers. It is frustrating when a classroom needs a professional and a trained professional needs a classroom, but the funded position connecting them is missing.

Existing teachers know what happens when that position stays empty. The work does not disappear. Children still arrive Monday morning. Lessons must be prepared, papers checked, struggling learners remediated, parents answered, grades encoded, and activities handled. Research cited by EDCOM 2 found that 42 percent of teachers in one study worked more than 50 hours a week, with workload compounded by large classes, diverse learner needs, inadequate resources, and shortages of support personnel. A vacant position may look like one line in a plantilla. Inside a school, somebody usually absorbs the work.

Here lies a familiar paradox: licensed teachers can be looking for work while schools still need teachers. The shortage is not necessarily one of people. It may involve funded positions, deployment, specialization, geography, or some combination of these. Sometimes the teacher exists. The item does not. Creating positions blindly would be poor policy, too. Government should know precisely where teachers are needed and whether hiring them actually reduces class sizes and workload. The learner knows nothing about plantilla items. She simply knows that Ma’am has many other names to remember.

Still, hiring 14,274 teachers will not magically repair Philippine education. More positions cannot by themselves fix weaknesses in curriculum, teacher preparation, school leadership, infrastructure, or learning recovery. Nor should Congress restore ₱4.29 billion simply because the request sounds worthy. DepEd should show where the shortages are, which grade levels and specializations need teachers most, how the positions will be distributed, and what difference the additional teachers are expected to make. If Congress restores the money, taxpayers deserve to know where those teachers will go and whether learners are actually better served.

This is also why the issue should not become another political shouting match. A classroom with too few teachers does not care which political camp wins the argument. Neither should legitimate questions about the budget automatically become accusations of corruption. Congress can still change the allocation. That is precisely why budget deliberations matter: this is the moment to ask what was left out, why, and whether restoring it would better serve learners.

We Filipinos are fond of calling teachers heroes. Perhaps we should be careful with that compliment. Heroism can become a convenient subsidy when institutions expect one exhausted person to accomplish the work of two. Teachers deserve recognition, certainly. But a functioning school system should not depend on extraordinary sacrifice simply to keep an ordinary classroom running.

Somewhere today, a newly licensed teacher is waiting for an item. Somewhere else, a veteran teacher is facing another crowded class and wondering when help will come. Between them sits a proposed national budget.

One is ready to teach. One needs help teaching.

And between them, for now, is a zero.

Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.

The post Zero hiring for DepEd teachers? first appeared on Iloilo Metropolitan Times.

Greed for money destroys these ‘corrupt’ politicians

Alex Vidal — Fri, 11 Sep 2026 21:51:27 +0000

“Earth provides enough to satisfy every man’s needs, but not every man’s greed.”—Mahatma Gandhi

IF our grandchildren turned the pages of Philippine political history, they would read the names of Ferdinand Marcos Sr., Joseph “Erap” Estrada, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, Ferdinand Martin Romualdez, Ramon “Bong” Revilla Jr., Jinggoy Estrada, Zaldy Co, Sara Duterte-Carpio, Loren Legarda, Manuel Bonoan, Chiz Escudeo, Joel Villanueva, among other prominent politicians, in the glossary of odium and infamy.

Records would ostensibly show they destroyed themselves because of “greed for money.”

When given the opportunity and elected to office, they allegedly took advantage of their positions by amassing unexplained wealth and living like patricians, oligarchs, and aristocrats while the ordinary people agonized and could hardly make both ends meet.

Some of them have been prosecuted and jailed, others escaped abroad and opted to become fugitives. Others fake their illnesses in order to avoid imminent arrest. Many of them have not been formally charged yet.

Even before they were accused of stealing billions of pesos from the taxpayers through kickbacks, “ghost” and substandard projects, intentionally misdirecting public funds, inflating, or manipulating during the planning, formulation, and execution phases of government spending, the government thieves were already living comfortably.

-o0o-

In the first place, they weren’t supposed to bilk the people they serve. Accumulating more wealth than what is necessary at the expense of the taxpayers was supposed to be mortal sin.

But because of rapaciousness and their lack of moral scruples, they allegedly stole more; they built empires and purchased private jets and choppers, hid their loot in Cayman Islands and The Caribbean, acquired mansions in the Philippines and abroad, collected queridas and queridos left and right.

Their greed justifies dishonesty, fraud, and exploitation, ruining reputations and long-standing relationships. Spiritual and moral traditions have long warned that an obsession with wealth leaves people permanently discontent and spiritually empty.

By replacing community well-being and ethics with an endless, harmful chase for more, their greed for money destroyed some of them and even the society where they belong.

Their unchecked financial greed funneled resources to a tiny minority, draining stability from the working class. Their act of extracting cash and resources faster than a system can replenish them risks total economic or environmental failure.

Their risky financial schemes and the constant desire for more have frequently led them straight into debt, isolation, and ruin.

-o0o-

I “saw” tears in Alexandra “Alex” Eala’s eyes while she was walking in the exit following a disheartening 7-5, 3-6, 7-5 loss to 18-year-old Iva Jovic of the United States in their third-round match at the US Open on September 5, 2026.

She really wanted to reach the next rounds and was a cinch away from snatching victory from the jaws of defeat when WTA No. 14 Jovic gave the break back in the decider after a double fault, and Eala held at love for a commanding 4-2 lead.

Eala, 21, would have faced former US Open champion Coco Gauf, 22, in the Round of 16 if the Filipina phenom beat her good (not best) friend Jovic, who was easily dismantled by Gauf, 6-1, 6-4 September 7.

Brad Kallet described the Eala-Jovic match in WTAtennis: “Jovic was excellent at the net, winning 12 of her 15 points, and struck 44 winners to 27 unforced errors. Eala came in even more, winning 16 of 25 net points, and had 34 winners to 33 unforced errors.

“Both returned exceptionally well, though Jovic was slightly more effective in the most critical moments, converting 9 of 17 break-point opportunities to Eala’s 8 for 20.”

Alex P. Vidal, who is now based in New York City, used to be the editor-in-chief of two leading daily newspapers in Iloilo, Philippines.—Ed

The post Greed for money destroys these ‘corrupt’ politicians first appeared on Iloilo Metropolitan Times.

Red and blue blinkers are strictly for police only

Ike Señeres — Wed, 09 Sep 2026 20:21:01 +0000

I have seen it far too many times — private security vehicles, expressway patrols, even vans on toll roads flashing red and blue strobes as though they were police vehicles. Each time I see those lights, I ask myself: who gave them that right?

In the Philippines, red and blue blinkers — the so-called “wang-wang” lights — are legally reserved only for the police and other authorized emergency vehicles. Private motorists, security agencies, or expressway patrols have no business using them.

Here is the law: under Presidential Decree 96 (1973), the use of sirens, bells, whistles — and “blinkers or other similar signalling or flashing devices” — is strictly limited to vehicles of the armed forces, national police, fire departments, hospital ambulances, and other Government-designated emergency responders.

Violations are not treated lightly: unauthorized devices may be confiscated, vehicles impounded, and repeat offenders may even face criminal penalties.

To reinforce the rule, on March 25, 2024, the administration issued Administrative Order 18, which reminded all government officials and personnel that they too are bound by the same prohibition — unless the vehicle is a duly designated emergency unit and the lights are used in valid emergency situations.

Why the ban matters

Red and blue blinkers are not mere decorations. They are symbols of authority and urgency. They tell motorists: “Pull over. Let this vehicle pass.” If everyone had that power — private guards, mall security, expressway staff — the meaning evaporates.

Allowing civilians to mimic police signals creates two risks:

Impersonation: Private vehicles can mislead or intimidate other motorists into giving way they are not required to give.

Public safety hazard: Unregulated flashing lights distract drivers, cause confusion, and may even trigger traffic accidents.

The law excludes all except real emergency responders to preserve both authority clarity and road safety discipline.

What should be done — and by whom

Enforcement requires action from the right authorities:

Land Transportation Office (LTO) and driver/license-issuing agencies can confiscate illegal blinkers and impound vehicles.

Philippine National Police (PNP), especially its Highway Patrol Group (HPG), should regularly conduct operations to stop unauthorized use.

Local government units and expressway operators should also enforce the ban — especially since many violations happen on private or concession-controlled roads.

They must ask themselves: are security convoys being “deputized” with red-blue lights by any legitimate authority? If the answer is no — then those lights must be removed.

What we as citizens should do

If you see a private vehicle with red/blue blinkers — report it. Use LTO hotlines or local traffic offices.

If you own a vehicle — check your installed lights. Remove any unauthorized strobes immediately. It’s not worth the risk.

If you are a security agency or expressway operator — stop using police-style lights. Use amber or white hazard lights instead. They are legal and sufficient for visibility.

My Final Words

Red and blue lights are not fashion accessories. They are official warning devices that belong only to police and authorized responders. When civilians or private entities misuse them, they dilute their value, cause public confusion, and undermine road safety.

The law is clear. Moral clarity should follow. If you are not authorized — do not flash.

Until enforcement becomes consistent and citizens stay vigilant, those flashing lights will continue to blind more than just the night.

RAMON IKE V. SENERES
www.facebook.com/ike.seneres iseneres@yahoo.com senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/09-09-2026

The post Red and blue blinkers are strictly for police only first appeared on Iloilo Metropolitan Times.

Brownouts, excuses, and accountability

Herman Lagon — Wed, 09 Sep 2026 20:13:46 +0000

There is a peculiar routine that comes with a brownout in Iloilo. The electric fan stops. The Wi-Fi disappears. Someone checks the utility advisory while another looks outside to see whether the neighbors have also gone dark. Phones become flashlights, rechargeable lamps emerge from drawers, and people begin calculating how long the refrigerator can stay cold. We have become surprisingly good at adjusting to unreliable electricity. Perhaps that is precisely the problem.

The latest rotational brownouts are not simply an Iloilo problem. They are symptoms of a Visayas grid running dangerously short of dependable supply and reserves. On September 8, the grid went under red alert again as available capacity fell below what was needed for demand and regulating requirements. Major generating units remained unavailable, while imports from Mindanao were limited. This is why blaming the distribution utility like ILECO or MORE Power whenever the lights disappear may be emotionally satisfying but technically incomplete. A distributor cannot deliver electricity that is unavailable upstream.

The numbers are harder to excuse. From January 1 to September 7, the Visayas grid accumulated 96 yellow alerts and 33 red alerts. Energy Secretary Sharon Garin herself called the situation “unacceptable” and said the government was treating it with urgency. Several generating units are expected to return this month, Panay Energy Development Corporation Unit 3 is targeted for October 3, and 253 megawatts of battery storage are being lined up across the Visayas. Those are welcome interventions. But 129 grid alerts in barely eight months suggest something more troubling than a bad week at the power plant.

For Ilonggos, there is an irony here that is difficult to miss. The Energy Secretary now dealing with the brownouts is one of our own. Sec. Garin studied accounting at UP Iloilo, served the province in Congress, and now finds herself confronting an energy crisis hitting her home region particularly hard. That should not make her personally responsible for every tripped generator or delayed project. Energy systems are too complicated for such convenient blame. But familiarity with the region also means she knows, perhaps better than most in Manila, what these outages cost communities far from the capital.

And the cost is not measured only in megawatts. A sari-sari store worries about ice cream melting in the freezer. A student loses internet halfway through an assignment. A small restaurant loses customers during dinner. A home-based worker misses an online meeting. Families endure humid nights, businesses burn diesel, and equipment becomes vulnerable to unstable supply. Those with generators, batteries, and solar systems buy themselves resilience. Those without money simply wait. Brownouts may be technically indiscriminate, but their consequences are not. Earlier outages in Western Visayas already showed how small enterprises and ordinary households absorb the disruption more directly than establishments able to afford backup power.

That is why “fix it first, blame later” is both sensible and insufficient. Of course, the grid must be stabilized before officials conduct a public autopsy. Nobody wants an investigation instead of electricity. But accountability cannot remain permanently scheduled for later. When a region records dozens of alerts, consumers are entitled to ask whether adequate reserves were procured, why generating units remained unavailable, which investments were delayed, and whether earlier warnings produced enough action.

Lawmakers are now asking similar questions. A congressional inquiry has been sought into recurring outages and the cost and actual delivery of ancillary services—the reserves consumers already pay for. The inquiry seeks to determine how much was collected, who received the payments, how much reserve capacity was actually available, and whether refunds or penalties may be warranted when contracted reserves were not delivered. That is not finger-pointing for sport. It is a reasonable question about what consumers received for money already taken from their bills.

The frustration also comes from a nagging sense of déjà vu. Western Visayas went dark before, most seriously in 2023, when weaknesses across the power system became painfully clear. The lights eventually returned, but apparently some of the lessons did not stay on. A reliable grid is not one that works when every plant behaves perfectly. Reliability is what remains when something goes wrong.

Government cannot prevent every turbine failure, transmission problem, or unexpected surge in demand. Neither can Secretary Garin personally switch a failed generating unit back on. Fair criticism begins there. But governance is partly the work of anticipating failure: ensuring reserves exist, infrastructure keeps pace, rules encourage reliability, agencies coordinate, and someone answers when the same vulnerabilities repeatedly leave millions of people in the dark.

The promised returning plants and battery systems may ease the immediate shortage. I hope they do. But the harder test comes after the red alerts disappear from the news. Will the Visayas emerge with enough redundancy and dependable capacity that the next failed plant becomes an inconvenience rather than another regional crisis?

For now, Ilonggos will keep doing what we have learned to do: charge the power bank, save the document, check the advisory, and wait for the electric fan to turn again. The lights eventually come back. The more unsettling question is why, after all these years and all these warnings, we still have to wonder when they will go out again.

Doc H fondly describes himself as a ”student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.

The post Brownouts, excuses, and accountability first appeared on Iloilo Metropolitan Times.