Amidst the celebration of Philippine independence, the fight to build upon the progress our heroes have valiantly fought for continues to be overshadowed by the state’s glorification of statistics that fail to capture the struggles of the masses.

Even after 127 years, the promise of June 12 — genuine liberation — remains as distant as ever.

From government hearings to media headlines, numbers are often placed on a pedestal as indicators of how far the country has come in terms of economic and societal development. However, when progress is measured mostly in economic quantity rather than in the quality of reality, perceptions of advancement fall prey to distortion.

When Reporters Without Borders (RSF) released the 2025 World Press Freedom Index, local officials were quick to highlight the Philippines’ “progress” for achieving a higher ranking, claiming that it shows how President Ferdinand “Bongbong” Marcos Jr. “respects one’s rights of expression and responsible journalism.”

While this result has boosted the Philippines into better ranks, we must ask: to what extent does this data reflect the state of the nation, especially the lives of its journalists? 

According to experts, the state of press freedom in the country is still defined as a “difficult situation.” To serve as purveyors of truth and liberty, journalists work within a system that constantly threatens their lives. 

“Actually, the Philippines is the deadliest country for journalists in the Asia Pacific with almost 200 journalists killed in the last 40 years,” said RSF Asia-Pacific Bureau Advocacy Officer Arthur Rochereau.

By relying merely on statistics, society fails to consider the bitter truths that taunt media workers in hostile environments, contractual workers who fail to put food on the table, families who are forced to turn roads into homes, and the rest of the Filipino masses who have yet to taste the true essence of freedom.

After all, numbers are not enough to carry the weight of their burdens.

And so, in commemoration of Independence Day, it is important to recognize those who cry for freedom from such struggles — those whose realities remain in the shadows while the spotlight shines on excellent charts, exceptional tables, and exemplary numbers.

When Freedom is Quantified

For the Philippine government, an 18-place rise in the 2025 RSF World Press Freedom Index was nothing less than a feat to be proud of. Its ranking at 116th out of 180 countries and territories was the highest the country has ever achieved in 21 years. 

“This particular achievement of the Philippines also shows that the President is not gearing towards dictatorship. There is definitely press freedom in the country,” Presidential Communications Undersecretary and Palace Press Officer Claire Castro said, relaying how “delighted” Marcos Jr. was with the result.

However, past the seemingly bright picture captured by rankings, the realities that take shape on the streets tell a darker story. 

One of the main reasons behind the Philippines’ climb in the index is the changing rankings of surrounding countries, RSF Asia-Pacific Advocacy Manager Aleksandra Bielakowska explained.

In a local context, based on the Philippines’ score of 49.57 in the index, the country still performed poorly, falling under the “difficult” category due to the grave political and economic conditions faced by journalists.

Formerly dominant news outlets now struggle to survive, lacking both the financial means and the strong online presence necessary to sustain operations in today’s digital world. At the same time, journalists continue to face threats of red-tagging, cyber-harassment, and other forms of intimidation.

And so, for the Filipino people, especially media practitioners, an 18-place rise is nothing less than an empty number when lives and freedoms remain at risk.

Similarly, statistics on economic growth are often paraded as proof of national advancement, even as millions continue to live in poverty.

These numbers construct a convenient narrative—one that celebrates a superficial sense of “progress” while overlooking the deeper struggles of a nation burdened by inequality, exploitation, and systemic neglect.

When freedom is quantified, When freedom is reduced to data points, it erases the human cost behind the ongoing fight for liberation.

Can a nation truly be called independent if its people are economically bound to systems that benefit only the few?

When Remittances Take Root in Exploitation

Touted as a primary growth driver of the Philippine economy, the 2.6% rise in personal remittances from Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) was hailed as a triumph this March. Over $3.13 billion was sent home, drawing applause from the government.

For National Economic and Development Authority (NEDA) Secretary Arsenio Balisacan, the increase “underscores not only the resilience of overseas Filipinos amid global challenges, but also their deep sense of responsibility, adaptability, and enduring commitment to support their families back home.”

However, buried underneath celebratory speeches for these “modern-day heroes” lies a conflict too often left neglected.

Each dollar sent carries a cost — a sacrifice, and in many cases, even suffering within a system that rarely acknowledges the pain endured by migrant workers.

For OFWs, resilience alone cannot sustain their hopes for better days, especially when their contributions to household consumption and the country’s external accounts are met with labor conditions that verge on, or outright constitute, human rights violations.

In the United Arab Emirates, one of the top sources of remittances, many OFWs are faced with a harrowing choice: endure abuse behind closed doors abroad or face uncertainty at home.

Some who chose the former have come forward, revealing severe cases of maltreatment — withheld salaries, confiscated documents, denial of meals, physical abuse, and forced labor.

These inhumane experiences are not isolated. A year-long investigation by Al Jazeera exposed similar abuse in other parts of the world. In Poland, 22 Filipino women narrated how they endured unjust salary deductions, coerced contract signings, and abrupt terminations.

Among them was Miriam, whose name was concealed for confidentiality, an OFW who moved to Poland in the hopes of earning a higher salary. To her dismay, she was met with harsh labor conditions, from harsh winters to excessive working hours.

“I have no choice, so I need to be patient to earn and have a vacation,” Miriam said. 

In the face of suffering, workers like Miriam persevere, with some even accepting injustice so long as they can send money home.

“Still, [these workers] believe they are okay because they compare [current working conditions] with what they have faced in the Philippines or the Gulf states,” stated Mikolaj Pawlak, an associate professor of sociology at the University of Warsaw.

Miriam’s story, like those of countless others, sustains the very remittances society benefits from.

Then again, OFWs are not mere pawns on an economic chessboard. They are human beings — parents, siblings, children — whose resilience is romanticized while their struggles are shut away. Thus, development should not be defined solely by the money they send, but by the dignity and conditions of the work that make those remittances possible.

True independence is not found in percentages or currency. It is realized when no Filipino is forced to leave the land they grew up in just to survive. It begins when the state stops leaning on the sacrifices of its migrant workers, and when it starts building a future where every family can dream, live, and thrive right here at home.

When Hunger Inflates 

In May, the Philippines’ inflation rate dropped to 1.3%, marking the fourth consecutive month of easing. As one of the most pressing crises that has plagued the country in recent years, this slowdown paints a seemingly promising picture. 

“We are encouraged by this development. It reflects the success of our sustained efforts to protect the purchasing power of Filipinos and ensure a more affordable cost of living,” Department of Economy, Planning, and Development (DEPDev) Officer-in-Charge and Undersecretary for Policy and Planning Rosemarie Edillon expressed.

But for the Filipino masses, meeting government targets for inflation rates does not translate into immediate relief.

A lower inflation rate does not mean prices are falling — it simply means they are increasing more slowly. As clarified by the Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA), inflation easing still implies rising costs, just at a slower pace. For minimum wage earners, the prices of rice, meat, and vegetables remain high enough to force difficult choices at the dinner table.

Even as GDP climbs and inflation declines, involuntary hunger continues to torment the country’s poorest.

Spanning from 2023 to 2025, the Year Two Report of the Second Congressional Commission on Education (EDCOM 2) found that 3 out of 4 Filipino children are malnourished. As their bodies grew up stunted, their futures followed suit.

“Sabi ko, paano na ‘yung kinabukasan [ng anak ko]? Mag-aaral pa siya. Dadating pa ‘yung panahon na baka kahit ‘yung pag-aaral, mahirap na,” shared Marisol Lucenio, a mother of a severely malnourished child.

Although feeding programs like the Department of Social Welfare and Development’s (DSWD) Supplementary Feeding Program attempt to provide support, cracks continue to widen as the budgets for such projects narrow. 

In 2023, a year when the average inflation burned holes through consumers’ pockets, the funding allocated per hot meal in the DSWD project was just P15, a meager amount that neither considered soaring prices nor the nutritional needs of a child. 

This is a crisis that could have been addressed more efficiently if the government prioritized strengthening local agriculture — the very sector that hands food on the table.

In an ideal world, the number of starving Filipinos are less due to the smaller cost of food. But in reality, the nation continues to be one of the world’s biggest importers, particularly of rice — an important staple in Filipinos’ daily food intake.

According to the US Department of Agriculture’s Foreign Agricultural Service’s Grain: World Markets and Trade report, the country is estimated to have imported 4.7 million metric tons (MT) of rice in 2024 and 4.9 million MT in 2025 due to the lack of crops from local farms. 

Yet, it is the same imports that cultivate a highly competitive market, driving farmers to sell their harvests at unsustainable prices.

“Farmers are poorer than ever. In the Bicol region, farmers sold unmilled rice at seven pesos per kilo instead of 20 pesos just to keep up with the market,” Danilo Ramos, leader of the Peasant Movement of the Philippines, told The New Humanitarian.

“We don’t earn anything during harvests. We just survive. We’re practically giving away our crops,” shared Felipe Nazar, a Filipino farmer.

While society places its hopes on slowing inflation rates and similar “optimistic” statistics, the daily struggle remains unchanged for millions. The hungry stay hungry, and the farmers — the heroes who feed the nation — can no longer afford the very crops they produce.

With these, it is clear that independence is not seen in lower inflation rates, but is felt when the country no longer depends on imports: those that feed mouths for a day, but take our farmers’ future away.

When Infrastructure Rises to Fall Apart

For 2023 to 2028, the Philippine Development Plan’s (PDP) Public Investment Program (PIP) listed 3,770 infrastructure projects worth P17.3 trillion as top priorities. For 2024 alone, the government allocated P1.5 trillion for infrastructure development, making up 5.8% of the country’s GDP. 

On paper, these figures suggest progress. But they float above the lived realities of those still waiting for projects that truly serve the public good.

In the name of progress, the government has allocated trillions of pesos over the decades for blueprints that promised to “build the nation.” 

However, what happens when cracks begin to show, not only in roads, bridges, and facilities, but in the very foundation of trust, as the focus shifts from building with integrity to satisfying metrics?

The answers emerge from the rubble of broken promises. In the funds wasted, and in the blood spilled. There are remnants of what could have been, had quality and safety taken precedence over statistics. Because numbers never tell the whole story.

Take the case of Isabela, where the Sta. Maria-Cabagan Bridge, operational for just over a month, collapsed in February. The cost? P1.225 billion; a decade of labor; and the welfare of six people, including an 8-year-old boy, who suffered injuries.

In another tragedy, two lives were lost — one of them a four-year-old girl — when an SUV rammed into the Ninoy Aquino International Airport (NAIA) Terminal 1 in March. Investigations found that the P8 million bollards installed in 2019 to prevent such tragedies failed to serve their purpose.

When cement and steel collapse, they take with them not just lives, but the very promise of independence — revealing it as a hollow structure built on uneven foundations.

In cases such as these, the purpose of public infrastructure gets lost in translation. It is meant to serve the people, to liberate them from harsh and unsafe conditions, not to dress up reports or inflate achievements with numbers that gloss over deeper failures.

When Will We See Beyond Statistics?

While these statistics play an important role in shaping responses to local and global challenges, they must never be the sole lens through which we measure development. 

Each number, each chart, and each table provides merely a glimpse into the weight carried by the masses.

It is up to us to look past the surface, to go beyond statistics, by listening to the cries and understanding the struggles of the unseen. 

We cannot claim independence based on macroeconomic data when so many are still shackled by the chains of inhumane labor conditions, involuntary hunger, and unlivable environments. 

In celebrating Independence Day, let us become one with the people in their struggle for liberation from the cruel grip of oppression. Let us measure our nation’s progress not only by quantity but also by quality — for freedom is not in the numbers we boast, but in the dignity of the people they so often ignore.