HIT OR MISS?: Mixed reviews hit Dinagyang 2026 over venue, access

By Mariela Angella Oladive

The Dinagyang Festival 2026 once again filled Iloilo City with drumbeats, color, and devotion, but this year’s celebration sparked divided opinions about how the event is evolving.

As performances ended and crowds dispersed, social media became a forum for praise, frustration, nostalgia, and reflection, with netizens raising questions about access, tradition, and who benefits from the festival’s changing format.

Concerns over the viewing experience at the Iloilo Sports Complex surfaced after several festivalgoers shared photos and accounts online, particularly from those seated in premium sections.

One widely shared post came from Ericka Salcedo, who criticized the sunshade netting installed in the Gold ticket section, posting a photo that showed it blocking the view of the stage.

In her Facebook post, she wrote, “Gusto ko mas nubo nubo gid tani nga atop di sa Gold. Kitaon pa mga warrior dan. Ang mas nubo pa tani sa pasensya ko. Ang tiil na lang nila makita namon.”

The post received more than 8,200 reactions and over 300 shares, with several commenters noting that the view appeared better from upper sections.

Another festivalgoer, Ed Maestrecampo, echoed similar concerns, questioning the value of the PHP 3,000 Gold 1 ticket and citing poor spacing, restricted movement, and an overall disappointing viewing experience.

In contrast, some attendees shared generally positive impressions despite the distance from the stage.

Noemi, a general admission ticket holder, said they still enjoyed the performances even from the upper section.

“Though our seats were far in the upper section, the experience was still good and we enjoyed the performance. I think the Sports Complex is a good venue, although it is quite far from the city proper,” she said in vernacular.

This year, the Iloilo Festivals Foundation Inc. introduced the Iloilo Sports Complex, which has a seating capacity of up to 7,000, as the final performance and judging venue to accommodate a larger audience.

Other judging areas included the Iloilo Freedom Grandstand and the corner of Luna and Huervana streets in the La Paz district.

The new layout replaced traditional venues from past festivals, including the Iloilo Provincial Capitol, Delgado corner Mabini streets, Quezon corner Ledesma streets, and Iznart Street.

The festival also faced scrutiny over the foundation’s decision to limit traditional banderitas, or decorative pennants, citing safety, visual management, and environmental concerns.

A Daily Guardian post on the decision drew hundreds of reactions, revealing mixed opinions from the public.

Some supported the move, saying the Dinagyang spirit goes beyond decorations and that the change encouraged a new perspective.

Others argued that fewer decorations dulled the city’s festive atmosphere.

“Di ma feel sang tawo basta wala banderitas,” one comment read, while another said Iloilo felt less celebratory than in previous years.

Comparisons with other festivals also surfaced, with some citing Cebu’s Sinulog for its broader street access and free performances.

Calls to “level up” Dinagyang included suggestions to expand street participation and allow more people to watch performances without cost.

Amid the debate, some urged openness to change.

In a public post, Rommel Paborada said the reactions reflected resistance to change, and that while traditions provide comfort, progress requires understanding and flexibility when changes are made in the city’s interest.

Others framed their critiques more emotionally.

Elle Vate, whose Facebook post drew more than 2,100 reactions and 1,400 shares, shared a nostalgic reflection rooted in childhood memories of Dinagyang in the 1970s.

She recalled when Dinagyang was a street experience, where people could freely line the routes, interact with warriors, and feel included regardless of social or economic status.

She described Dinagyang 2026 as grand but distant, citing fewer performance areas, the transfer of the final competition to the Sports Complex, and wider road closures that made moving around the city more difficult.

She also raised concerns about exclusivity, pointing to high venue walls and paid access that prompted questions about whether free public viewing was still possible.

She noted quieter stretches of the city while major performances were underway and observed that interactions with tribe members now felt more staged or mediated by tipping.

“I am not against change. But change should be for the people, not just for profit,” she wrote.

Her post ended with a call to prioritize people over branding, commercialization, or business—a sentiment echoed by many others online.

Despite the criticisms, major events like Kasadyahan sa Kabanwahanan and the Tribes Competition still drew large crowds to official venues.

Festival organizers said layout and staging adjustments were made to improve safety, crowd control, and sustainability while addressing logistical concerns.

As Dinagyang 2026 winds down, the conversation it sparked continues, with many asking not only whether the changes worked—but who they ultimately served.

Between tradition and transformation, Dinagyang once again proved it is more than a festival. It remains a reflection of the city’s evolving identity, priorities, and collective values.