Why are we poor?

By Noel Galon de Leon

The first time I heard “Sana’y Mayaman” was through Kara David. Yes, that interview clip that ended up going viral on TikTok, the one that suddenly reminded everyone that Filipino protest songs actually exist. I listened to it once, then twice, and before I knew it, I had it on repeat on Spotify and YouTube. After a few days, I already memorized every line. It’s hard not to. The melody stays with you, but it’s the message that claws into your conscience. We rarely hear songs like this anymore, songs that make you stop scrolling, sit up, and actually think. That’s precisely why I decided to write about it: to remind the younger generation that music used to mean something. And this one, hits where it hurts.

“Sana’y Mayaman” is not your typical sentimental ballad about hardship. It’s a lyrical slap in the face of a society that pretends not to see the poor. The song opens with a question so innocent it’s almost disarming: “Inay, mayaman ba tayo?” (Mother, are we rich?) The mother’s answer is brutally honest: “Hindi anak ko, di tayo mayaman, panay kayod sa trabaho, kahit na ganoon, mababa lang ang sweldo.”

It’s simple, straightforward, and it stings. Because it’s true. Decades after this song was released, millions of Filipino families are still trapped in the same cycle of labor and low wages. The mother’s calm response hides a lifetime of exhaustion, a quiet indictment of a system that rewards greed and punishes hard work.

Inang Laya does not romanticize poverty. She dissects it. In one verse, she sings, “Kung ang tao’y sampu at ang pera’y sampu lamang, tig-iisa ang mga mamamayan, sa ganitong sitwasyon, walang kahirapan.” It’s basic arithmetic, really. But then comes the gut punch: “Ngunit kapag ang isa’y kumuha ng lima, sinong maiiwan sa siyam na natira?”

There it is, the metaphorical mic drop. The song exposes the obvious truth we all like to ignore: poverty exists because greed exists. And yet, somehow, society keeps acting as if the poor are poor because they didn’t “work hard enough.” No, the problem isn’t laziness, it’s exploitation disguised as meritocracy.

Listening to “Sana’y Mayaman” today feels like scrolling through the news and realizing nothing has changed. The rich are richer, the poor are poorer, and everyone else is too tired to fight about it. The song doesn’t offer false hope or sugarcoat reality. Instead, it provokes. It forces you to look at inequality and ask, “How much of this are we willing to tolerate?” In that sense, it isn’t just music—it’s a mirror. And let’s be honest, not everyone likes what they see.

The political bite of this song is undeniable. When Inang Laya sings, “Dapat sana dito sa ating bayan, pantay-pantay ang lahat ng mga mamamayan,” she isn’t merely dreaming. She’s calling out the hypocrisy of a nation that loves to preach equality while practicing favoritism. It’s a line that should be engraved in government offices, right beside the politicians’ empty promises. Because what good is progress if it only benefits those already sitting comfortably at the top? True development should mean dignity for everyone, not luxury for the few.

The final dialogue between the mother and child delivers a bittersweet punch: “Opo inay, ngayon ko lang nalaman, hindi na po ako maghahangad yumaman.” It’s not surrender, it’s clarity. The child’s realization is almost revolutionary: that wealth is meaningless in a world where fairness doesn’t exist. It’s the kind of enlightenment that many adults still fail to grasp. Inang Laya turns a lullaby-like conversation into a profound political awakening. That’s genius.

So, why are we poor? Because greed has become tradition. Because we reward corruption with re-election. Because we keep mistaking survival for success. “Sana’y Mayaman” may have been written years ago, but it might as well have been written yesterday. It’s painfully timeless—a reminder that poverty isn’t destiny; it’s design.

In a sea of love songs and viral noise, this track stands like a protest banner in the middle of a concert. It’s unapologetic, uncomfortable, and necessary. Inang Laya doesn’t just sing; she interrogates. And if we still can’t answer her question—“Why are we poor?”—then maybe, just maybe, we haven’t been listening hard enough.