The fault is not in our rice (or rise)

Flying economy from Manila to Iloilo is already an exercise in endurance. Passengers must contend with cramped legroom, recycled air, and the existential dread of delayed baggage. But for local chief executives, the real turbulence begins when national officials are spotted in the aisle.

Enter Anilao Mayor Ma. Teresa Debuque and DILG Undersecretary Jed Patrick Mabilog, who recently turned a routine commercial flight into an impromptu congressional hearing on food security—and acoustic trauma.

According to accounts, the trouble began with an innocent congratulations that rapidly devolved into a “policy critique.” Mayor Debuque, seizing the democratic equalizer that is the airplane exit queue, decided this was the perfect venue to air grievances regarding the DILG’s rice assistance guidelines.

What followed is a tragedy born of the English language’s failure to differentiate the soft “s” from the hard “c.”

When the Mayor spoke of rice, the Undersecretary’s ears—finely tuned by years of local factional warfare—heard RISE. For the uninitiated, “Rise” is the political banner of a rival camp; “Gugma” is Mabilog’s own legacy brand. In a flash of Pavlovian muscle memory, Mabilog reportedly quipped: “Indi kami Rise, Gugma kami.” (We aren’t rise, we are love).

It was a pun intended as lango-lango (a joke), but in the hyper-sensitive airspace, it landed like an declaration of war. Decibels rose. The Arrival area became a theater of the absurd. The Mayor accused the Undersecretary of politicking a grain distribution program; the Undersecretary suddenly remembered that he was a dignified national official who preferred “written memos” via “official channels” over shouting matches next to the luggage scanner.

The beauty of this encounter lies in its complete lack of self-awareness. It reveals the terrifying truth about our political class: they are entirely incapable of viewing reality through anything other than a campaign lens. To a normal person, a discussion about a DILG rice program is a tedious conversation about bureaucracy. To our leaders, it is an opportunity to cross-examine a politician’s true tribal loyalties.

Mabilog has since issued a textbook bureaucratic apology, invoking the standard liturgy of “learning opportunities” and “proper channels.” He noted that public safety—his actual portfolio—has very little to do with agricultural distribution.

He is right, of course. But the next time a local official approaches a national figure at the airport to talk about infrastructure, they had better be careful with their vocabulary. Mentioning a “bridge” might sound like an invitation to bridge political divides, and asking about “roads” might just be interpreted as a pathway to an early election.

Until then, let us pray that the DILG never launches a corn distribution project. Heaven knows what local party that might sound like.

Welcome home, Usec. Mind the homophones – and each other.