I CAME across a daily online journal news which was headlined: PRAY THAT THE WORLD WILL SURVIVE ‘TRUMP-26’ – LACSON
According to the news article, Senate President Pro Tempore Panfilo “Ping” M. Lacson said on Wednesday that Filipinos continue to face economic difficulties due to the conflict in the Middle East, which he said is due in large part to Trump’s “whimsical arrogance in treating even the US’ long time allies.”
There was something about that headline that lingered a little longer than expected—maybe because it felt so close to home. A public official telling people to pray their way through another global storm isn’t new to us. It’s something we’ve heard before, in different forms, during different crises.
When Sen. Panfilo Lacson said, “Pray that the world will survive Trump-26,” it didn’t sound dramatic—it sounded familiar. It echoed that quiet, uneasy feeling many of us carry: that things happening far away can still find their way into our kitchens, our commutes, our daily budgets. The mention of COVID-19 hit a nerve. We remember those days. The silence of empty streets. The fear of the unknown. The constant adjusting, the waiting, the hoping. And yes, we prayed.
Because in moments like that, prayer feels like the only thing we can hold onto. It gives comfort. It gives people something steady when everything else feels uncertain. But if we’re being honest—it was never enough on its own.
We got through those years not just because we hoped, but because people acted. Frontliners showed up. Communities helped each other survive. Systems—however imperfect—had to move.
We are not strangers to hardship. As Filipinos, we’ve learned how to endure almost by instinct. We’ve lived through storms, both literal and political. We’ve learned how to stretch what we have, how to rebuild, how to keep going even when things don’t feel okay. But endurance comes at a cost. And it shouldn’t always be the people who pay for it.
What’s happening now—tensions involving figures like Donald Trump and conflicts in the Middle East—might seem distant, but their effects are anything but. You feel it when fuel prices go up again. When groceries quietly become more expensive. When small businesses start doing the math a little more carefully, wondering how long they can keep going. These are everyday struggles. Real ones. This is where leadership matters most—not in repeating what people already feel, but in doing something about it before things get worse.
The national government—and just as importantly, local governments like the Negros Oriental Provincial Government and the Dumaguete City Government—can’t afford to just react anymore. Waiting for a crisis to hit before responding is a cycle we already know too well. It’s exhausting. And it leaves people constantly catching up just to survive.
What people need is a sense that someone is thinking ahead for them.
That looks like making sure basic goods remain accessible even when global markets fluctuate. It means supporting local food systems so communities aren’t always at the mercy of outside supply chains. It means preparing transport and energy solutions before rising oil prices hit the hardest. It means having plans in place—not just announcements—when things start to shift. And just as important, it means talking to people clearly. Honestly. Regularly. Because people can handle hard truths—but not silence.
On the ground, in places like Negros Oriental and Dumaguete, this becomes even more real. This is where governance isn’t abstract—it’s personal. It’s the difference between a family getting support in time or not. Between a small business surviving the month or closing its doors. Between people feeling seen or left to figure things out on their own.
Resilience is something Filipinos have in abundance. But it shouldn’t be something we’re forced to rely on every single time. Because resilience, without support, turns into quiet exhaustion. Naturally, prayer will always have a place. It steadies people. It reminds us we’re not alone. It gives strength when strength feels thin. But people shouldn’t have to carry everything with faith alone.
We can pray for peace. For wisdom. For a world that feels less uncertain. But alongside that, there has to be action—real, deliberate, consistent action—from those in positions to make things better. At the end of the day, survival shouldn’t depend on how much people can endure. It should depend on how well we are prepared. And that’s something prayer, no matter how powerful, cannot do on its own.
