Dinagyang is over, or is it?

By Noel Galon de Leon

In truth, Dinagyang does not really end on the day the winning tribes are announced, nor when the last drumbeat fades at the Freedom Grandstand or the Sports Complex. The festival persists beyond spectacle. It continues in the everyday struggles of a city and a province attempting to lift themselves, again and again, toward a vision of global attractiveness while remaining locally grounded. Dinagyang, in this sense, is not an event but a process, an unfinished conversation about who Iloilo is and who it wants to become.

Yet the more urgent question is not whether Dinagyang continues, but what gets sidelined in the process of making it “globally competitive.” What cultural values are muted, simplified, or sacrificed as festivals are repackaged into exportable brands? And whose interests are ultimately being served when a deeply local tradition is reimagined for external consumption?

The first direction that demands scrutiny is the current trajectory set by the Iloilo Festivals Foundation Inc. (IFFI). This is not a call to romanticize origins or to return uncritically to the festival’s earliest forms. Origins matter, yes, but more as reminders than as cages. What deserves deeper reflection is the new direction the festival is deliberately taking.

This direction is no secret. Dinagyang is being taken beyond Iloilo, marketed, branded, and introduced to larger audiences and wider markets. It is increasingly positioned as a cultural product, a recognizable brand meant to entice tourists to visit Iloilo every January. Dinagyang is no longer just a celebration. It is a pitch.

At first glance, this ambition is undeniably attractive. It promises tangible benefits for local business owners, including increased foot traffic in malls and restaurants, fully booked hotels and beach resorts, and heightened visibility for local cuisine. As a UNESCO Creative City of Gastronomy, Iloilo seems perfectly poised to benefit from this influx of visitors and capital.

More than economic gain, this vision suggests cultural recognition. Iloilo, long overshadowed by larger Philippine cities, finally gains visibility beyond national borders. In this sense, the projection offered by IFFI, seemingly confirmed by the outcomes of the most recent Dinagyang, sounds compelling and even hopeful.

But cultural critics are trained to listen not only to what is said, but also to what is conveniently left unsaid. Every act of branding carries risks. Every attempt to globalize a festival invites the danger of flattening complexity into digestible images. The question, then, is not whether this branding works, but at what cost.

Among the many possible points of critique, food emerges as a particularly revealing site of tension. Gastronomy is not a decorative accessory to Dinagyang. It is central to the festival’s claim to authenticity and distinction. Food is memory, labor, and identity served on a plate.

The proliferation of food festivals across various locations during Dinagyang is, in itself, not problematic. On the contrary, it offers Ilonggos and tourists alike the freedom to choose where and how they want to eat, whether in the downtown area or inside large malls hosting their own food fairs complete with nightly concerts.

Multiplicity of venues is not the issue. Curation is. When quantity replaces intention, food festivals risk becoming chaotic marketplaces rather than curated cultural experiences. While it is important to give many businesses the opportunity to earn, it is equally crucial to interrogate the quality of what is being served.

One online comment described the downtown food fest as little more than an “inasal festival,” where vendors sold nearly identical offerings. This observation may sound casual, but it is deeply consequential. If left unaddressed, it quietly suggests that this narrow selection is all Iloilo has to offer gastronomically.

This perception is dangerous for a city that prides itself on culinary depth. Where are the dishes that Ilonggos claim as uniquely their own? Where is the culinary storytelling that distinguishes Iloilo from every other Philippine city pursuing food tourism capital?

Even more troubling is the question of service. Gastronomy is not only about taste. It is about hospitality, care, and professionalism. What kind of experience are we presenting to fellow Ilonggos and to visitors if the food is generic and the service careless?

This leads to a more structural concern, namely the way organizers perceive food vendors and business owners during Dinagyang. Too often, they are treated merely as tenants, renters of temporary spaces whose primary role is to generate revenue during festival week.

This perspective is deeply flawed. These vendors are not peripheral actors. They are cultural co-producers. Their presence helps draw crowds, animate spaces, and shape the lived experience of Dinagyang. Reducing them to mere income-generating units diminishes their potential contribution.

Imagine instead a festival that invests in its vendors. Mandatory seminars on food safety and hygiene. Workshops on customer service. Training sessions that frame each vendor as an ambassador of Iloilo’s identity as a City of Gastronomy.

Beyond technical training, what is needed is ideological alignment. Business owners must be helped to understand that they are not just selling food. They are participating in a collective project to elevate the city’s cultural standing. This requires orientation, dialogue, and serious conferences that articulate the city’s long-term vision.

Another glaring issue during the recent Dinagyang was the widespread confusion surrounding official announcements. Conflicting statements from the city government, particularly from the Mayor’s office, left both locals and visitors uncertain about festival rules and schedules.

The result was predictable and unfortunate. Public backlash, online ridicule, and erosion of trust followed. Such criticism, visible on social media, is not merely embarrassing. It is damaging, especially when read by the very tourists the city hopes to attract.

The liquor ban, the banderitas, kiosk fees, performance programming, and ticketing systems all seemed to be announced, revised, withdrawn, and reannounced. What should have been clear governance became a public spectacle of indecision.

It is tempting to personalize this failure and frame it as the Mayor’s weakness. However, doing so oversimplifies the problem. Anyone familiar with large-scale event organization understands that such chaos usually points to deeper issues, including poor coordination, insufficient consultation, and decisions made without authority or follow-through.

Still, governance is about perception as much as intention. When communication is muddled, leadership appears weak. When policies lack clarity, administration looks careless. No amount of behind-the-scenes effort can fully counteract the damage caused by public confusion.

What does this signal about the management of both city and province? To the ordinary observer, it suggests negligence, fragility, and a lack of strategic coherence, regardless of how hard individuals within IFFI may have worked.

IFFI must therefore confront a difficult but necessary truth. Dinagyang’s success this year was not achieved simply because the festival happened. Survival is not the same as success.

Dinagyang succeeded because Ilonggos chose to believe in it once again. Despite inconsistent decisions and organizational lapses, people showed up. They participated, celebrated, and defended the festival as their own.

This collective faith is not an infinite resource. It must be honored rather than exploited. IFFI, as the lead organizing body, has a responsibility to acknowledge its shortcomings openly and without defensiveness.

Reflection must be institutional rather than cosmetic. Consultation must be genuine rather than performative. Listening to criticism should be understood as a sign of strength, not weakness.

Only through this process can Dinagyang evolve in a direction that truly benefits all Ilonggos, not just the businesses with the deepest pockets or the sponsors with the loudest voices.

Cultural festivals are not neutral economic engines. They are moral and political spaces where values are negotiated. The question is whether Dinagyang will remain a shared cultural inheritance or slowly become a polished product detached from its people.

If Dinagyang is truly not over, then its most important work begins after the drums stop beating, in reflection, accountability, and the courage to imagine a festival that is globally visible, locally meaningful, and culturally honest.