PROVINCES, towns and cities in Western Visasyas have local traffic ordinances. There’s also the Land Transportation and Traffic Code. And yet, our roads continue to claim lives with numbing regularity.
Last year alone, 461 people died in road crashes across the region. As reported by this paper recently, nearly 70 percent of those deaths involved motorcycles. In Iloilo City — the region’s urban hub — 144 lives were lost, the highest toll among all provinces and cities. Thousands more were flagged for violations: driving without a license, riding without helmets, unregistered vehicles, seatbelt non-use. The rules are there. The violations are documented. The deaths keep coming.
So who is letting this happen?
Unlicensed drivers do not materialize overnight. Helmetless riders do not suddenly forget the law. Their continued presence on the roads points to a systemic failure — one where enforcement is uneven, compliance is optional, and accountability is selective.
If nearly 22,000 traffic violations can be recorded in a year, that is not proof of successful or efficient traffic data recording; it is proof of scale. It means thousands were already on the road long before they were caught — if they were caught at all. For every citation issued, how many riders passed unchecked? For every helmet violation logged, how many were ignored at intersections, barangay roads, and inner streets?
Iloilo City’s experience is particularly telling. As the region’s commercial and transport center, it has more vehicles, more riders, more risks. But it also has more enforcers, more cameras, more resources. If the city still leads in fatalities, then enforcement is not merely a manpower issue — it is a consistency problem.
Crackdowns come in waves. Visibility spikes during campaigns, festivals, or after headline-grabbing crashes. Then enforcement fades, and old habits return. Riders gamble that today will be another “safe” day to skip a helmet or ride without a license. Too often, they win — until they don’t.
Beyond being a discipline issue, this matter must also be viewed as a deterrence problem. Laws lose their power when violators believe they can get away with breaking them. When unlicensed drivers roam freely and helmet laws are treated as suggestions, the message being communicated is that compliance is optional.
The result is predictable. Head injuries become fatal. Minor mistakes turn deadly. Families lose breadwinners. Hospitals absorb the cost. And society shrugs — until the next statistic is released.
Authorities rightly point to human error as the root cause of most fatal crashes. But human error thrives where systems are weak. Strong enforcement reduces error; weak enforcement enables it.
If the region is serious about saving lives, enforcement must stop being episodic and start being relentless. No exemptions. No shortcuts. No “pwede na.” Licensing must be strict and accessible. Helmet laws must be enforced every day, not just during operations. Local governments, traffic units, and national agencies must stop working in silos and start owning the outcomes.
Because every unlicensed, unprotected rider on the road is not just breaking the law—they are being failed by it. And until that failure is addressed, the question will haunt every fatal crash report in Western Visayas and Iloilo City alike: who allowed this rider to be there — and why did we wait until someone died, to act?
