The kitchen table has always been the stage where we sort out national issues. From deciding which brand of sardines fits the budget to figuring out how to pay tuition, families deal with economic shifts in very real ways. In Iloilo City, the uproar over the 300 percent jump in Real Property Tax (RPT) has turned that private table talk into a public quarrel, complete with heated press cons, political outbursts, and reporters defending their credibility. This is not just about technical definitions of inflation. It is about how people will pay rent, how much a kilo of rice costs, or whether a cup of coffee in a Jaro café goes up again next month. You do not need an economics degree to know that when land taxes triple, something else down the line will surely rise.
So when PSA Region VI Director Nelida Amolar reportedly said last August 14 that businesses usually pass on higher property taxes to consumers, she was simply echoing what every sari-sari store owner already knows: when costs go up, prices follow. Her words, caught live on Facebook, were later walked back after Mayor Raisa Treñas-Chu bristled at the link between the tax hike and inflation. The Daily Guardian, which quoted her, stood its ground. For Ilonggos renting rooms, running carinderias, or selling vegetables, the debate over wording misses the point. What matters is that their bills are rising. A WVSU student’s rent went up by ₱300. A La Paz grocer quietly added ₱2 to a can of sardines. These are not theories; these are survival tactics.
The mayor’s claim that the inflation talk is “just politics” sidesteps the everyday math of households. Inflation indeed has many drivers—electricity, fuel, global shocks—but a 300 percent spike in a fixed levy is a heavy addition to the pile. Even with the forty percent discount, landlords and small businesses still face big jumps, as pointed out by the Institute of Contemporary Economics (ICE). They pass this on to tenants and customers, who juggle tighter budgets. For people already hit by erratic power bills and fare hikes, the timing of the tax revision feels like a second blow. What Ilonggos want is not denial but an honest nod that the burden is real.
Economists call this cost-push inflation, when production costs rise and goods become pricier. The World Bank noted in a 2019 study that property tax hikes, while vital for revenue, can trigger ripple effects across housing and retail markets, especially when demand is inelastic. In Iloilo, student dorms and corner stores are hardly optional. Families cannot skip rent or stop buying rice. That makes the RPT hike a textbook case. Even if the official numbers do not list it as the main driver, people feel it where it counts—at the checkout counter.
Politics has made things worse. Councilor Sheen Marie Mabilog suggested phasing in the increase over five years, a practice used in other cities to soften economic shocks. Instead of hearing her out, the council barred her from speaking. Such moves fuel suspicion that leaders would rather silence dissent than confront concerns. In governance, hearing minority voices is not charity; it is common sense. To taxpayers, the optics of blocking debate often sting more than the tax bill itself.
City Hall points to rising business permits and collections as proof that the economy is holding up. From 16,000 to nearly 20,000 permits in three years—a number echoing the city’s faster beat. But statistics gloss over who shoulders the heaviest load. A developer with condos can absorb levies better than a landlord with a single boarding house. A global coffee chain can spread costs nationwide, unlike a lone café on General Luna. On paper, the city looks vibrant. On the ground, SMEs—the backbone of Philippine jobs—are quietly hurting. And when they struggle, employment and community life feel the squeeze.
To be fair, the city was long overdue for an update. COA had been urging it for years. The Local Government Code mandates reviews every three years; Iloilo skipped eighteen. Taxes fund classrooms, flood control, and services everyone needs. But how leaders implement hikes, and how they communicate their use, shapes whether citizens see them as fair contributions or crushing burdens. Balancing fiscal duty with empathy is the real test.
What frustrates many Ilonggos is not the idea of paying taxes but the dismissive tone in defending it. Calling their worries “politics” brushes off lived struggles. As I often told my students and counselees, people need to be heard before they are lectured. A city proud to be the “Heart of the Philippines” must beat with its people. Real authority is built on empathy.
There were options. Gradual phasing, targeted breaks for SMEs, or discounts for landlords housing students could have helped. The Asian Development Bank has shown in its 2021 studies that phased reforms with relief are more sustainable for competitiveness than sudden hikes. Other cities have taken this route, acknowledging that local economies are delicate ecosystems. One abrupt move can ripple through the whole community.
The controversy has also touched press freedom. Daily Guardian’s defense of its reporting highlights how crucial independent media is in holding leaders accountable. When official numbers can be pulled back, what stops other truths from being reshaped? Stability and trust rely on institutions that hold the line. Numbers are never neutral in heated politics; they must be cross-checked with lived realities. A 3.7 percent inflation rate may sound mild in a graph, but if it translates to a ₱300 rent hike for a student on allowance, it cuts deep. Classrooms can use this as a chance to show how governance decisions ripple into everyday life.
In the end, the RPT hike is not just an economic policy. It is a test of trust. Leaders ask citizens to pay more, but citizens ask leaders to listen more. Taxes are indeed the price of civilization, but fairness and humility are its soul. Debating whether RPT “directly” or “indirectly” affects inflation is a distraction. What is undeniable is that Ilonggos are paying more, feeling squeezed, and wanting honest dialogue. To wave this off as “politics” is to shut the door on them.
Iloilo’s greatness is not in its skyscrapers or permit numbers but in how it carries the weight of ordinary people. Calling ourselves the “City of Love” means more than words. Love is heard in empathy, seen in fairness, felt in shared burdens. A 300% RPT increase is no light burden. It calls for leadership that admits the strain, designs better solutions, and puts people before optics. That is the kind of truth you cannot bully away.
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.
