THE LATEST data from the Department of the Interior and Local Government (DILG) should alarm every citizen in Western Visayas. Out of the region’s local government units, only 58 have ordinances banning public drinking. Just 70 regulate excessive noise. A slightly better 76 enforce curfews for minors.
In a region with dozens of municipalities and cities, barely a handful have deemed it necessary to legislate the most basic standards of behavior in public spaces. This is not a technical oversight or paperwork backlog but a failure of priorities.
There is nothing glamorous about ordinances banning public drinking, regulating noise, or imposing curfews on minors. They do not make headlines. They do not come with ribbon-cutting ceremonies. They do not offer the photo opportunities that many public officials seem to crave. And yet, these are precisely the kinds of laws that define whether a community is orderly — or quietly slipping into dysfunction.
Local governments are not merely implementers of national programs. They are lawmakers at the grassroots level, empowered — and expected — to craft policies that respond to the everyday realities of their communities. When they fail to pass even the simplest ordinances, it raises a fundamental question: what exactly are they doing?
The breakdown becomes even clearer when the numbers are dissected. In Iloilo province, only 21 LGUs have ordinances banning public drinking. Across Aklan, Antique, and Capiz, compliance is uneven at best — patchy, inconsistent, and in some cases, virtually nonexistent.
When there is no clear rule against drinking in public places, disorder becomes normalized. When noise regulations are absent or weak, communities lose the right to peace in their own homes. When curfews are not enforced, minors are exposed to risks that could have been prevented.
DILG-6 is correct in its warning: these “ordinary” issues are where bigger problems begin. Street disturbances, petty crimes, youth-related incidents — these do not emerge overnight. They grow in the cracks left by inaction. And yet, too many LGUs continue to treat these responsibilities as optional.
This is where the problem cuts deeper. The failure to pass basic ordinances is not about capacity — it is about attention. It reflects a leadership culture that prioritizes visibility over substance, projects over policy, and credit-taking over institution-building. It is easier, after all, to inaugurate a structure than to enforce discipline. Easier to pose for a tarpaulin than to sit down and draft a law.
But governance is not a performance. It is a duty. The absence of these laws sends a dangerous message: that the basics do not matter. That order can be assumed rather than enforced. That leadership can be measured by appearances instead of outcomes.
Western Visayas deserves better.
Communities do not become safe and livable by accident. They are shaped by clear rules, consistent enforcement, and leaders who understand that real governance happens not in grand gestures, but in the quiet, unglamorous work of getting the fundamentals right.
Passing basic ordinances should be the easiest part of governance. The fact that so many LGUs have failed to do even this speaks volumes — not just about legislative gaps, but about a troubling absence of urgency, discipline, and accountability.
If local leaders cannot deliver on the basics, then everything else they claim to achieve rests on shaky ground. Because in governance, as in life, neglecting the fundamentals is where failure begins.
