Before midnight at the ICC Grounds in Mandurriao, Iloilo City, two groups clashed—raised voices, phones recording, pride on parade. A woman waved her iPhone 16 Pro Max and pointed to a car idling nearby as proof they mattered. A young adult flashed a rude hand sign. A companion, tipsy, took offense. What began as a petty slight grew teeth. Another trying to keep the peace ended up ‘hurt.’ By dawn, the clip had hopped through group chats and posts. By noon, thousands had a verdict: the gadgets were loud, but the manners louder.
It is a “real talk” scene we know too well. A quarrel turns into a spectacle once a camera rolls. Cars, phones, and titles are flashed like props. Comment sections joke about “status starter packs.” But what struck people is not the phone or the car. It was the idea that things measure worth. That pushback feels sharper now, in a season of stalled flood projects, favored contractors, “nepo babies” flexing luxury cars, and neighbors mopping mud. A boast lands heavier when the backdrop is inequality.
I used to ask my campus journalism mentees: what makes a story, and what makes a spectacle? A story has context. A spectacle only has angles. The angles here were easy: iPhone, car, “attorney.” The context is harder—an obscene gesture from a lass, ‘alcohol,’ a person who allegedly once attended law school but now works BPO shifts, a bystander left with a bump. None of these excuse arrogance, and none excuse the body and outfit shaming that later filled the comments. Outrage can burn both ways. I confess I falter too when rage, gloom, envy, fear, pride, or shame gets the best of me. I am broken, like everyone else. Everything is a learning curve.
Sociologists have wrestled with this tension for more than a century. In 1899, Thorstein Veblen called it “conspicuous consumption,” the habit of flaunting status through visible goods. Pierre Bourdieu, in 1984, showed how taste and cultural capital—not just money—signal class and shape judgment. Erving Goffman, in 1956, described life as a stage where we perform identities for an audience. Social media magnifies all of this. Even genuine milestones—passing the boards, buying a family car, or opening a sari-sari store—can look like flexes on a timeline. The Mandurriao clash felt like those theories playing out in real time, only with more noise and sharper consequences.
Still, flexing itself is not the enemy. Sharing wins is part of being human. A graduation photo, a first salary treat, a research presentation, a nature trip to Gigantes Islands, a birthday bash, an unboxing of a hard-earned laptop, or a long-saved motorcycle purchase can spark pride and even inspire others. The problem comes when joy is turned into a contest, or when “humility” becomes another performance. Watching the Mandurriao video, it was not the phone that angered viewers—it was the way it was used as a weapon, a yardstick for dignity.
Comment threads, like quick pop quizzes, reveal our values. The verdicts were sharp: humility beats hardware, intoxication explains but does not excuse, titles demand restraint. But many comments also slipped into appearance shaming. That is not victory. Research on digital culture shows that online shaming seldom changes people. More often, it just leaves deeper wounds (Ronson, 2015; Pew, 2022). The Mandurriao quarrel became proof of how easily we slip from calling out arrogance to committing cruelty ourselves.
I remember the quiet habit of discernment—through the Examen—pausing at the end of the day to ask: What did I do well? Where did I fall short? What should I do next time? Rotary’s Four-Way Test echoes the same: Is it the truth? Is it fair? Will it build goodwill? Will it be beneficial to all? I do not pass these tests daily. Often, I fail. But moments like Mandurriao remind me that trying, even failing, is still better than letting pride win. I learned this the hard way from all the millions of failures and mistakes I did in life.
Meanwhile, the “nepo baby” debate adds another layer to the Mandurriao fracas. Comfort and connections are not sins, but they come with duties, especially when public money is part of the picture. Flaunting a P400k Chanel handbag or a P42-M Rolls Royce while neighborhoods are flooded is not just fashion—it feels like betrayal. That is why the midnight “iPhone 16 Pro Max” clash in Mandurriao struck such a nerve. One boast in the street echoed larger frustrations about inequality, ghost projects, and unchecked excess. It reminded many that while government owes us stricter blacklists for errant firms and clearer dashboards showing budgets and audits in plain words, we as citizens also owe each other proportion: more service, less spectacle, more prudence, less pretense.
I see shades of this even in schools. Students or teachers post borrowed cars, Pinterest airport shots, photoshopped travel poses, or luxury outfits financed on debt. It is clever, but tiring. Friends get left unpaid, pets are neglected, quizzes are missed, fake news hyped. Stories shared on r/AskPH echo the same pattern: flex, then borrow; borrow, then belittle. The Mandurriao clash was not unique; it was simply a louder, more public version of everyday pressures and pretensions that creep into classrooms, offices, houses, and barangays.
The Mandurriao hullabaloo and the Senate hearings circle the same truth: proportion matters. What really counts is context—when, where, and how you show things. Possessions are fine when earned. What hurts is being told you are less human for having less, or being asked to cheer for luxuries built on public money. In the video, another young person muttered, “Untat na. Indi naton pagpadakuon.” Stop now. Let us not make it bigger. That is wisdom worth carrying as we continue to better ourselves: be stern without cruelty, witty without insult, proud without noise. Phones die, cars stall, tempers cool—yes, even hangovers pass. What remains is how we treated one another when it mattered the most.
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.
