Who gets to be a book lover in the Philippines?

By Noel Galon de Leon

Every year on Aug. 9, people around the world celebrate Book Lovers Day, an occasion supposedly dedicated to those who cherish books and the joy of reading. It sounds beautiful. Social media fills with photographs of overflowing bookshelves, cozy reading corners, independent bookstores, and recommendations of beloved novels. Publishers offer discounts, libraries organize events, and readers proudly share what they have been reading. Yet in a country like the Philippines, Book Lovers Day is less a celebration than a painful reminder of the enormous gap between the romantic image of reading and the everyday reality of millions of Filipinos who simply cannot afford to become “book lovers.” The question is not whether we love books. The real question is whether we have been given the opportunity to love them.

There is a form of violence that rarely makes headlines. It is quieter than hunger, unemployment, or poverty, yet it slowly erodes a society’s capacity to think critically, imagine different futures, and create new knowledge. It is unequal access to books. In a country where many families still struggle to put food on the table, celebrating Book Lovers Day can feel like a slap in the face. How can we celebrate books when owning one has become a luxury? How can reading become a culture when a single book may already cost as much as several days’ worth of meals for an ordinary Filipino family?

This reality is not accidental. It is deeply rooted in the structure of the global publishing industry. The international book market is dominated by wealthier nations that produce their own paper, operate large-scale printing industries, subsidize publishers, and invest heavily in public libraries. In many European countries and several parts of Asia, publishing is not viewed merely as a commercial enterprise but as a public good. Governments actively support local authors, reduce the cost of book production, and ensure that books reach schools, libraries, and communities. Access to books is understood as an essential component of education, citizenship, and cultural development.

The Philippine experience could not be more different. We rely heavily on imported paper, making the publishing industry vulnerable to fluctuations in global prices and foreign exchange rates. Every increase in the value of the dollar translates into higher production costs. Printing becomes more expensive, transportation costs rise, and the final burden is passed on to readers. Because the local market remains relatively small, publishers often print only a limited number of copies, which further drives up the price of each book. The result is a vicious cycle. Books are expensive because few people buy them. Few people buy them because they are expensive. Publishers produce fewer titles or smaller print runs, making books even less accessible.

The problem extends far beyond price. Distribution remains one of the greatest obstacles. Every year, remarkable books are published in the Philippines, yet many never find their way beyond bookstores in Metro Manila, book fairs, or online marketplaces. They rarely reach provincial libraries, public schools, or remote communities. A book that never reaches its readers cannot fulfill its purpose as a vessel of knowledge, imagination, memory, and dialogue. Books should not be treated merely as commodities. They are public cultural resources that deserve to circulate widely and equitably.

The condition of many public libraries reveals another layer of this crisis. Numerous libraries operate with limited budgets, making it nearly impossible to acquire newly published books. Many depend on donated collections that are outdated or no longer relevant to contemporary readers. School libraries often lack dedicated funding for collection development, while some public libraries have become little more than storage spaces for aging books and obsolete materials rather than vibrant centers of learning and community engagement.

Equally concerning is the persistent lack of investment in professional librarianship. Many libraries are managed by personnel who have little formal training in library administration, collection development, digital literacy, or community programming. This is not a reflection of their commitment or competence but of the state’s failure to invest in the profession. Librarians are not merely custodians of books. They are educators, information specialists, literacy advocates, and cultural workers. When librarians are undervalued, libraries themselves lose their capacity to nurture an informed and reading public.

Ironically, Book Lovers Day itself did not originate as a commercial celebration. It emerged as an informal occasion intended to encourage reading, promote visits to libraries, support local bookstores, and remind people of the transformative power of books. In countries where reading infrastructure is already well established, such celebrations reinforce an existing culture of literacy. But when the same celebration is transplanted into the Philippine context without acknowledging the country’s structural inequalities, it risks becoming little more than a performance. It celebrates those privileged enough to buy books while leaving behind the millions who remain excluded from the world of reading through no fault of their own.

This contradiction is particularly visible in Iloilo City. The city is widely recognized as one of the literary capitals of Western Visayas, with a rich Hiligaynon literary tradition, active writers’ organizations, universities that continue to produce scholarship, independent publishers, literary festivals, and cultural institutions committed to preserving regional literature. Yet despite this vibrant literary ecosystem, access to books remains uneven. Public libraries continue to face funding limitations. Many communities lack inviting reading spaces. Books written by local authors often fail to reach the very children and communities whose lives they seek to represent. It is a profound irony that a city celebrated for its literary heritage still has countless young people who have never owned a single book.

This is the real disconnect. The problem is not that Filipinos do not love books. The problem is that public investment has failed to make books an ordinary part of everyday life. We often blame young people for not reading enough, insisting that they prefer smartphones to books. Yet how can they choose books that are absent from their homes, unavailable in their schools, and inaccessible in their communities? It is impossible to romanticize reading while denying people the material conditions that make reading possible.

If we truly wish to celebrate Book Lovers Day, perhaps the celebration should begin not with social media posts or photographs of newly purchased books but with a collective demand for greater public investment in libraries, stronger government support for local publishing, meaningful assistance for authors and illustrators, professional development for librarians, lower book prices, and policies that guarantee every Filipino child access to books in their own language. The true measure of a nation’s love for books is not the number of beautifully curated bookshelves owned by a privileged few but the number of children who can freely borrow books from a library in their own community.

Perhaps the more important question is not, “Happy Book Lovers Day?” but who truly has the privilege of becoming a book lover in the Philippines? As long as books remain a luxury rather than a public necessity, this celebration will continue to ring hollow for millions of Filipinos. Perhaps the most meaningful way to celebrate Book Lovers Day is not simply by opening another book but by ensuring that one day every Filipino will have the genuine opportunity to own, read, and love one.

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Noel Galon de Leon is a writer and professor at the University of the Philippines Visayas, where he teaches in the Division of Professional Education and at UP High School in Iloilo. He is also the Secretary of the National Commission for Culture and the Arts-National Committee on Literary Arts.