Tax ng Ina Mo

By Herman M. Lagon

A teacher in Bulacan opens her payslip on a Friday morning and feels the familiar sting: another few thousand gone to taxes. She sighs, thinking of potholes, blackouts, and flooded classrooms. That night, she scrolls through a video of a lawmaker’s daughter unboxing her third designer bag of the month. The contrast is brutal—and expensive. For most workers, taxes are the only proof they contribute to a system that too often betrays them. Every peso withheld feels like a small act of trust in a government that rarely earns it. The former Finance undersecretary Cielo Magno-popularized phrase “Tax ng ina mo,” muttered half in jest and half in despair, captures both the anger and exhaustion of those who keep paying while others keep stealing.

We are taxed for nearly everything—salary, fuel, land, groceries, even death. Bishop Pablo Virgilio David once reminded that the ordinary Filipino shoulders at least 15 kinds of levies, from income and excise taxes to VAT and property dues. Add the 12% VAT on goods and the annual property tax many teachers and nurses still painstakingly manage to pay. Every jeepney ride and grocery run feeds the same treasury. Yet for many, those coffers feel endless at the top and empty at the bottom. Transparency International (2024) ranked the Philippines 114th of 180 countries in corruption perception, trailing neighbors like Malaysia and Vietnam. Even the Bureau of Internal Revenue—the main collector—has been rated “poor” in corruption resistance (SWS, 2016). No wonder “Saan napupunta ang buwis namin?” sounds less like a question than a sigh.

One need not be an economist to sense the imbalance. The Department of Finance admits that while tax collections grow by 11% a year, corruption quietly fattens alongside it. The World Bank and IMF (2024) estimate that about 20% of the national budget—some PHP 700 billion to PHP 1.3 trillion yearly—disappears through bribery, diversion, and ghost projects. That is enough to build thousands of schools and hospitals or fund flood control that actually works. Instead, we get senators grilling contractors who drive Bentleys and influencers flaunting “nepo baby” wealth online. When lawmakers’ children post private jet, PHP 700,000 posh resto bill, and USD 1 million 5-carat Valentine’s Day gift photos while public classrooms leak during storms, the insult is not symbolic—it is literal.

Corruption in taxation runs both ways. Some businesses use fake receipts to evade taxes, while some officials use the same tricks to embezzle public funds. The Bureau of Customs loses over USD 1 billion annually to smuggling (Philstar, 2017), and BIR officers have been caught extorting small firms (Philippine News, 2017). For most citizens, the injustice stings: a factory worker pays withholding tax faithfully, while a contractor with political ties hides millions through “creative accounting.” Senior Associate Justice Marvic Leonen (2024) was blunt: “Leakages exist due to inefficiencies or corruption. When the government must incur debt to make up for these leakages, that is unethical.” His warning was simple—stealing from the treasury is stealing from the poor twice: once through taxes collected, and again through services denied.

Some justify tax evasion as protest. “Why pay if they just pocket it?” a tricycle driver asked in a radio call-in. The anger is real but misdirected. As Atty. Olivier Aznar (2024) wrote, “Responding to wrongdoing with another wrongdoing only deepens the rot.” Skipping taxes may feel defiant, but it ultimately harms those who rely on public hospitals, scholarships, and schools. Taxes are the veins of the state; when citizens stop contributing, the country’s pulse weakens. This is not blind faith—it is choosing responsibility over cynicism. Real conscience, after all, is not guilt but the pursuit of the greater good, even when others fail. Paying taxes honestly is quiet courage.

But frustration runs deep. Teachers buying their own chalk and nurses reusing face masks cannot help but fume at “consultancy fees” and “confidential funds.” Flood victims hear of PHP 9 billion ghost dike projects while bailing water from their homes. “We pay taxes with our sweat, but they spend them with their perfume,” said a principal in southern Iloilo. In 2025, nationwide protests over flood-control corruption led to resignations and frozen contracts worth PHP 545 billion—but few convictions. Finance Secretary Ralph Recto later admitted corruption has begun to “dampen taxpayer sentiment.” Trust, once eroded, cannot be taxed back.

Still, reform glimmers faintly. The BIR’s “Run After Fake Transactions” campaign has recovered billions in back taxes. Some local governments now publish spending dashboards—small but powerful steps toward transparency. Justice Leonen warned that when corruption persists, “the existence and enforcement of tax burdens become illegitimate.” The state must model restraint: no junkets, no hidden allowances, no revolving-door favors. Behavioral economist Dan Ariely (2012) found that people comply more when they perceive fairness. Trust, like taxes, builds slowly but surely.

Beyond the numbers lies the moral ledger. Corruption is more than crime; it is decay of values. It rewards cunning over conscience and tells the young that decency is for the naïve. Teachers hear this often: “Why be honest if the corrupt get rich?” The answer must be shown, not said—through leaders who return excess perks, audits that make sense, and systems that respect the taxpayer. Paying taxes, at its best, is shared stewardship. Roads, classrooms, hospitals—these exist because people chose to give, not hoard. When this trust breaks, cynicism spreads faster than reform.

In the end, “Tax ng ina mo” should not be a curse but a dare—to leaders to spend wisely, and to citizens to stay awake. The government may collect PHP 6 trillion a year, but its real wealth lies in trust. Corruption turns taxes into tribute; accountability turns them into investment. The goal is not just to jail thieves but to nurture a culture where stealing public funds feels as shameful as skipping one’s dues. If greed were taxable, the deficit would be gone. Until then, we hold the line—quietly, persistently, eyes open. Every honest taxpayer is proof that the nation, though wounded, still has a conscience.

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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.