🕓 Last Updated: July 10, 2025, 12:11 am (PH time)
My name is Regel. I write from the margins: A glimpse into the daily lives of barangay frontliners—from patrol to pandemic, their work sustains the pulse of local democracy in quiet but tireless ways. Their labor is not charity. Their time is not disposable. Their story deserves to be told.
Their labor is not charity. Their time is not disposable.
Regel Javines, Founder & Editor | The Philippine Pundit
Barangay Frontliners: The Silent Pulse of Public Service
As cliché as it may sound, at the heart of the Philippines’ local governance system lies a group of underappreciated, overburdened, and often overlooked individuals: barangay frontliners. From tanods and health workers to secretaries and kagawads, these men and women form the backbone of daily public service. Their role, though critical, is frequently romanticized as a “calling” while rarely compensated as a profession. This is not an exaggeration. This is the outright truth, from first-hand, on-the-ground experience by immersion.
I work as one of the barangay frontliners in some remote rural places in the Philippines. I traveled on foot, together with my colleagues, almost all the time when rendering public service. Yes, we have this meager allowance, but we are always tempted to set it aside for the constituents who badly need it at times.
The Honor in Everyday Service
Many frontliners begin their service with a genuine commitment to the welfare of their community. This is a fact. For them, being a barangay worker isn’t just about enforcing curfews or manning checkpoints. It means knowing the names of families in need, settling neighborly disputes, delivering aid to the farthest corners of the barangay, and showing up even when it rains hard or when their own families need them. But most of the time, their own families are secondary to the constituents when it comes to delivering support.
There is pride in the job—a sense of purpose. The barangay is where democracy is most felt, not in the halls of Congress or through presidential speeches. Rather, it must be felt in the daily presence of public servants knocking on doors and listening to problems without microphones or media—an utter, purely public service by heart.
The Toll of Burnout
Yet, behind the smiles and the tattered uniforms is a mounting fatigue. Burnout is real, and for many, it is constant. Barangay frontliners often work without formal job security, receive meager allowances instead of salaries, and are expected to be on call even during holidays or personal emergencies. And would you mind asking about their own families in times of need? Almost all the time, when public service demands, their own families become an option.
The Unseen Sacrifices
When crises arise—like the COVID-19 pandemic, natural calamities, or political unrest—they become first responders without the benefit of hazard pay, proper equipment, or psychological support. The emotional toll is immense. Mental health is rarely discussed. And when complaints surface, they are often met with dismissal or blame or even public shaming via social media name-calling.
One of these examples of public shaming via social media happened in one of the remote barangays in Leyte province. The nucleus of the problem, if you would like to ask? Waste disposal—a legitimate issue always in conflict when in-charge authorities, be it at the barangay level or the municipal level, fail. The reactions from the part of the constituents may be reasonable enough to recognize the failure of the barangay to make sense of their efforts on planning and knowledge of management. This must be addressed urgently.
Meanwhile, behind every barangay tanod who patrols at night is a mother missing her child’s bedtime, a father skipping meals, or a young person sacrificing studies. The weight of public service at the barangay level often includes personal danger, public ridicule, and little to no upward mobility. And this is a no-brainer. One who has decided to engage in public service shall be ready at all times to face the worst-case scenario, so to speak.
Moreover, some frontliners have served for decades with no social insurance, no retirement benefits, and no promise of promotion. Others have died in service—swept away during rescue operations, victims of violence, or worn down by years of neglect.
Systemic Neglect, Persistent Courage
As real talk as it may seem, while national leaders deliver speeches and politicians debate legislation, barangay frontliners handle the actual legwork of implementing programs. They carry out tasks that no one else wants to do. And yet, many remain informal workers, surviving on honorariums and seasonal tokens. This must be the real story for the dailies to publish, for the Congress to legislate, and for us common people to ponder upon.
And would you like me to ask what the right question is after all? Here is the piece I want you to ask: What sustains them? A deep connection to their community, yes. But also, in some cases, the lack of better alternatives. Many stay because they believe no one else will care like they do. Others stay because they cannot afford to leave—the saddest reality after all.
Why Their Story Matters
In our country, where politics often favors the powerful, the story of barangay frontliners is a sobering reminder that real public service is often quiet, unrecognized, and profoundly human. If the government of the people, by the people, for the people truly seeks inclusive governance, it must begin with recognizing, compensating, and protecting those who do the everyday work of democracy.
Their labor is not charity. Their time is not disposable. Their story deserves to be told. ▲
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Regel Javines is the founder/editor-publisher of The Philippine Pundit. Born in Leyte and raised by struggle, he writes truth from the margins. His work explores the intersections of politics, spirituality, and life’s deeper questions. Blogging since 2011, Regel has contributed incisive political analysis to global citizen journalism platforms, giving voice to stories often left unheard. Currently, he works as a consultant for the Congressional Assistance, Response, and Education (CARE) Program of the House of Representatives of the Philippines.