Who benefits from the creative industry in Iloilo?

By Noel Galon de Leon

The creative industry in the Philippines is often celebrated as a progressive force, a promise of jobs, visibility, and cultural pride. Yet behind the glowing press releases and curated social media posts lies a more complicated story. This essay is a personal reflection and a critical inquiry into who truly benefits from the creative industry in Iloilo, and who is quietly pushed to the margins.

To understand the issue, we must first ground ourselves in the legal definition of the creative industry in the Philippine context. The government, through agencies like the Department of Trade and Industry and the National Commission for Culture and the Arts, defines the creative industry as economic activities that originate from individual creativity, skill, and talent, and that have the potential for wealth and job creation through the generation and exploitation of intellectual property.

This definition includes advertising, architecture, design, film, music, publishing, visual arts, crafts, performing arts, digital media, and cultural heritage related industries. On paper, it sounds inclusive and expansive. It suggests that every artist, cultural worker, and creative thinker has a place in the national economic imagination.

However, the legal language already reveals a tension. Creativity is framed primarily as an economic resource. Art becomes valuable when it generates profit, tourism, or branding. Cultural expression is often reduced to a commodity, something to be packaged, sold, and consumed rather than questioned, nurtured, or protected.

This framing has a profound impact on the different fields of the arts. Disciplines that are easily marketable, visually attractive, and sponsor friendly rise to the surface. Those that are experimental, critical, or rooted in community struggles often remain invisible. The hierarchy of value becomes clear very quickly.

Visual artists who produce decorative or Instagram friendly works find platforms more easily than those who challenge political narratives. Musicians who fit commercial genres are invited to festivals, while those working in traditional, experimental, or protest music struggle for space. Theater groups that ask uncomfortable questions are labeled niche or difficult.

The creative industry also reshapes how artists see themselves. Instead of cultural workers, many are forced to become content creators, brand ambassadors, and self marketers. The pressure to be constantly visible online can be exhausting, especially for artists whose practice requires time, solitude, and deep reflection.

For artists in the regions, the situation becomes even more complex. While policy documents often speak of regional inclusion, resources and decision making remain concentrated in urban centers and among a small circle of cultural gatekeepers. Regional artists are invited to participate, but rarely to lead or define the agenda.

Independent artists feel this exclusion most sharply. They operate without institutional backing, without stable funding, and often without access to mainstream platforms. Yet they are the ones who take risks, experiment with form, and remain closest to grassroots communities. Ironically, they are celebrated rhetorically but neglected structurally.

In Iloilo, the creative industry has become closely tied to tourism and gastronomy. Festivals, food fairs, and lifestyle events dominate the calendar. These events are visually appealing and economically profitable, making them attractive to sponsors and local governments.

There is nothing inherently wrong with celebrating food and tourism. Ilonggo cuisine and hospitality are genuine cultural strengths. The problem arises when gastronomy becomes the default definition of creativity, overshadowing other art forms and cultural practices.

A quick look at social media reveals this imbalance. Posters, hashtags, and official pages repeatedly highlight chefs, restaurants, and food experiences. Meanwhile, painters, writers, choreographers, filmmakers, and community based cultural workers struggle to gain the same visibility and support.

Creative industry events in Iloilo often claim to be inclusive, yet the programming tells a different story. Visual arts exhibitions are sometimes treated as decorative side attractions. Performances are reduced to short entertainment segments. Talks and workshops rarely address critical issues affecting artists.

Local and independent artists are invited, but often unpaid or underpaid. They are asked to perform for exposure, to contribute for the love of art, while commercial partners benefit financially and reputationally. This dynamic normalizes exploitation under the guise of opportunity.

The agenda behind this model deserves serious criticism. It prioritizes economic spectacle over cultural depth. It treats art as an accessory rather than a vital form of knowledge and social engagement. It reinforces existing inequalities by favoring those who already have access to capital and networks.

This agenda also shapes public taste. When audiences are repeatedly exposed only to safe, consumable forms of creativity, they lose the opportunity to encounter challenging, transformative art. Culture becomes entertainment, stripped of its capacity to disturb, heal, and provoke thought.

As an artist and cultural worker, this reality is deeply personal. It affects how we survive, how we create, and how we imagine our future. It raises painful questions about belonging and value. Are we artists only when we are profitable, or do we matter even when our work resists easy consumption?

The creative industry, as it currently operates in Iloilo, risks silencing precisely the voices that need to be heard. Regional histories, indigenous knowledge, queer narratives, labor stories, and political critiques struggle to find platforms in a system obsessed with marketability.

What should artists do in response to this? First, we must recognize our collective power. Artists are often isolated, competing for limited opportunities. Building solidarity across disciplines and communities is essential. Collaboration can challenge the dominant narratives imposed by institutions.

Second, artists must actively participate in cultural discourse, not just production. Writing, speaking, and organizing are creative acts. By articulating our concerns and visions, we reclaim agency over how creativity is defined and valued.

Third, engagement with local government and cultural agencies should be critical, not complacent. Consultation must go beyond token representation. Artists should demand transparency in funding, programming, and decision making processes.

Fourth, alternative spaces and platforms must be nurtured. Community run galleries, independent festivals, online journals, and grassroots workshops can provide room for experimentation and dialogue. These spaces may be fragile, but they are often where real innovation happens.

Education also plays a crucial role. Artists and audiences alike need access to critical cultural education that goes beyond technical skills. Understanding art history, cultural policy, and political context empowers communities to question dominant structures.

Finally, we must reclaim the idea that art has value beyond profit. Art is a form of memory, resistance, and imagination. It allows us to see ourselves and our society more clearly. Any creative industry that forgets this betrays the very creativity it claims to promote.

The question, then, is not simply who benefits from the creative industry in Iloilo. The deeper question is whose creativity is being nurtured, whose labor is being recognized, and whose stories are being told.

If the creative industry is to truly serve artists and communities, it must be reimagined. It must move away from narrow economic metrics and toward a more ethical, inclusive, and culturally grounded vision.

This is not an easy task, but it is a necessary one. The future of Iloilo’s cultural life depends on whether we choose convenience over conscience, spectacle over substance, or whether we dare to insist that art, in all its forms, truly matters.