The sympathy of the people we serve is not with us, but with the other side
In the Philippine Senate, a nineteen-billion-peso question has surfaced that is older than its price tag: can a government earn back the trust of communities it has long neglected? The debate over the NTF-ELCAC budget is, at its core, a reckoning with fifty years of absence — and the human cost of filling that void with armed rebellion rather than roads and schools. What is being weighed is not merely fiscal priority, but the fragile arithmetic of loyalty in places where the state has yet to prove it belongs.
- Eight hundred twenty-two barangays, cleared of communist fighters after decades of conflict, now stand at the edge of a government promise that may go unfulfilled if the budget is cut.
- Opposition senators are pushing to redirect the funds toward COVID-19 response and disaster relief, forcing a collision between long-term counter-insurgency strategy and immediate humanitarian need.
- Former police chiefs Dela Rosa and Lacson warn that stripping the budget risks reversing hard-won community trust, sending rural villagers back into the orbit of the NPA.
- Senate Finance chair Angara signals the allocation will survive intact, but questions about misidentified beneficiaries — including urbanized villages — cast doubt on the program's precision.
- The deeper wound beneath the debate is this: the nineteen billion pesos would not be necessary had the government simply served these communities in the first place.
Standing before the Senate in mid-November, Senator Ronald Dela Rosa made a case rooted in the arithmetic of loyalty. Scrapping the nineteen-billion-peso NTF-ELCAC budget, he warned, would betray the very communities the government had spent half a century trying to reclaim from communist insurgency.
For decades, rural barangays received no roads, no schools, no visible sign that Manila remembered them. The New People's Army filled that silence. Now, with 822 barangays finally cleared of rebel presence, the government had pledged twenty million pesos to each — for road concreting, school buildings, water sanitation, health stations, and greening. Dela Rosa, a former PNP chief, called it a matter of honor: a down payment on credibility long overdue.
Senator Panfilo Lacson echoed his support, while Senator Zubiri, whose home province of Bukidnon remained rebel-affected despite decades of state presence, voiced a sharper frustration — the fund should never have been necessary at all.
The opposition saw the moment differently. The Senate minority bloc proposed reallocating the funds to COVID-19 relief and disaster response, arguing that competing crises demanded a different calculus. Senate Finance chair Angara signaled the budget would survive, but Senator Binay raised a practical concern: some highly urbanized villages had been included among the beneficiaries, suggesting the targeting lacked precision.
What remained unresolved was not a budget line but a question of state credibility — whether the government could deliver on promises to communities that had learned, over generations, to expect abandonment. Dela Rosa's warning was plain: fail again, and sympathy would drift back to the side that never left.
Senator Ronald Dela Rosa stood before his colleagues in the Senate chamber on a Monday in mid-November, making a case that hinged on a simple arithmetic of loyalty. Cut the nineteen-billion-peso budget for the National Task Force to End Local Communist Armed Conflict, he warned, and you risk losing the very people the government had spent half a century trying to win back.
The logic was straightforward, if sobering. Rural villagers had joined the New People's Army—the armed wing of the Communist Party of the Philippines—not out of ideological fervor alone, but because they felt abandoned. For fifty years, Dela Rosa said, the military and police had been courting these communities, trying to convince them that the government cared. Yet the barangays received no projects, no visible presence, no tangible proof that anyone in Manila remembered they existed. The NPA filled that void. Now, having finally persuaded some of these villagers to turn away from the rebels and trust the state instead, the government was on the verge of breaking its promise.
The fund in question would direct sixteen billion pesos toward development in eight hundred twenty-two barangays that had been cleared of communist fighters. Each barangay would receive twenty million pesos—twelve million for road concreting, three million for school buildings, two million for water sanitation, and smaller allocations for health stations and greening projects. It was, in essence, a down payment on credibility. Dela Rosa, a former chief of the Philippine National Police, framed it as a matter of honor. "It is very painful to think that the sympathy of the people we have sworn to serve and protect are not with us, but with the other side," he said. "This is a battle of winning the hearts and minds of the people."
He was not alone in this view. Senator Panfilo Lacson, another former police chief, backed the call to retain the full budget. Senator Juan Miguel Zubiri also favored keeping the funds, though he noted a deeper frustration: the money would not have been necessary if government agencies had simply done their jobs in rural development from the start. Zubiri, whose father governs Bukidnon and whose brother represents the province in Congress, spoke from experience—his home region remained infested with communist rebels despite decades of state presence.
But opposition senators saw an opportunity to redirect resources. The Senate minority bloc wanted to reallocate the anti-insurgency budget toward COVID-19 response and disaster relief, arguing that the pandemic and recent calamities demanded immediate attention. The proposal had not yet reached the full Senate floor, but the tension was clear: in a time of competing crises, was counter-insurgency development the right priority?
Senate Finance Committee chair Sonny Angara signaled that the nineteen-billion-peso allocation would survive the budget process intact. Yet concerns lingered. Senator Nancy Binay raised a practical objection: some highly urbanized villages had been included in the list of beneficiaries, suggesting that the targeting was not as precise as it should be. The question of who truly deserved these funds—and whether the government could deliver on its promises once the money was allocated—remained unresolved.
What hung in the balance was not merely a budget line item. It was the credibility of the state in the eyes of communities that had learned, over decades, to doubt it. Dela Rosa's warning was stark: fail to deliver, and sympathy would drift back across the line, toward the rebels who had never abandoned these villages, even when the government had.
Citas Notables
For fifty years, the military and police have been courting these communities, trying to convince them the government cared. Yet the barangays received no projects.— Senator Ronald Dela Rosa, paraphrased
This is a battle of winning the hearts and minds of the people.— Senator Ronald Dela Rosa
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does Dela Rosa think cutting this budget would specifically drive people toward the NPA?
Because he's saying the government already made a deal with these communities—we'll develop your barangays if you stop supporting the rebels. If we take the money away, we're breaking that deal. The NPA will look like the only side that actually keeps its word.
But couldn't the government just say the money is being redirected to COVID relief, which also helps those communities?
In theory, yes. But Dela Rosa's point is that these barangays have been neglected for fifty years. They've heard promises before. A vague commitment to pandemic relief doesn't feel like the same thing as a concrete road or a school building in your village.
Is there evidence that the NPA actually recruits because of government neglect, or is Dela Rosa just assuming that?
He's drawing on his experience as PNP chief—he's seen it happen. But the source doesn't give us specific recruitment data. What we do know is that the government itself designed this fund based on the assumption that development wins loyalty back from areas where the NPA had influence.
What about Binay's concern that some urbanized villages are on the list? Doesn't that undermine the whole argument?
It does, actually. If you're giving twenty million pesos to a village that's already developed and close to the city, you're wasting money that could go to genuinely remote, neglected areas. That's where the NPA actually has roots.
So is the real problem the budget itself, or how it's being spent?
Both. The opposition wants to cut it entirely and use the money elsewhere. Zubiri wants to keep it but admits it shouldn't be necessary if other government agencies did their jobs. And Binay wants to keep it but spend it more carefully. Everyone agrees the goal is right—they just disagree on the method and the scope.