Starving in Silence: The Philippines’ Hunger Crisis Exposed

By Louis ‘Barok‘ C. Biraogo — April 2, 2025

MARIA stares at the nearly empty rice pot, the flickering light casting shadows over her cramped Manila tenement. Two small bowls sit on the table—barely enough for her children, but all she has left. Her stomach tightens, not from hunger, but from the quiet lie she whispers: “Bukas na lang, anak.” Tomorrow, maybe. If tomorrow is kinder.

Juan, a farmer in Leyte, stands motionless before his wilted rice paddies, decimated by yet another typhoon. His family hasn’t eaten meat in months; now, even the vegetables are gone. These aren’t just stories—they’re the flesh-and-blood reality behind a chilling statistic: 27.2% of Filipinos are hungry, the highest rate since the darkest days of the 2020 pandemic.

This isn’t a sudden storm; it’s a slow-motion genocide of neglect, festering in plain sight. The Social Weather Stations (SWS) survey, released today, lays bare a crisis that’s been building for years. Hunger isn’t just a number—it’s a child’s sunken eyes, a parent’s quiet despair. How many more will go to bed starving before leaders act?

Hunger’s Relentless March: A Crisis Timeline Since 2020

Rewind to September 2020: 30.7% of Filipinos faced involuntary hunger amid COVID-19 lockdowns, a peak that shocked the nation. By 2023, the rate had dipped to a still-alarming 10.7% annual average, hinting at recovery. Last year, it crept to 20.2%. Then came 2025: 15.9% in January, 21.2% in February, and now 27.2% in March. That’s nearly one in three families unable to eat regularly—a six-point leap in a single month. Of these, 6.2% endure “severe hunger,” a grinding, constant ache that defines their days.

The regional disparities scream inequity:

Visayas: Hunger spiked to 33.7% (from 20%)—a 13.7-point jump.
Metro Manila: Modest rise from 27.3% to 28.3%.
Mindanao: Climbed from 23.3% to 27.3%.
Rest of Luzon: Increased from 19.1% to 24%.

Why does Visayas, a region battered by typhoons and overlooked by Manila’s elite, bear the brunt? It’s no mystery: resources flow where power resides, leaving rural families to fend for themselves.

Broken Systems, Empty Plates: The Roots of Ruin

This crisis didn’t emerge from thin air. It’s the bitter fruit of political and economic missteps.

Agriculture Collapse: The Department of Agriculture (DA), led by Secretary Francisco Tiu Laurel Jr., has watched output shrink—down 2.2% in 2024, hammered by El Niño and typhoons that cost PHP 15.8 billion in damage. Farmers like Juan get scant support: no modern tools, no disaster relief, just a government that floods markets with imports, crashing local prices. In 2024, onion oversupply left growers penniless—a policy blunder that echoes in empty stomachs today.
Inflation’s Silent Theft: Food inflation hit 3.8% in January 2025, outpacing overall inflation at 2.9%. For the poor, earning PHP 645 daily in Metro Manila’s minimum wage—if they’re lucky—every price hike is a dagger. The National Economic and Development Authority (NEDA), under Secretary Arsenio Balisacan, touts 5.8% growth in 2024, but who reaps it? Not the 13.3% underemployed, scraping by on jobs that barely pay. Inclusive growth remains a slogan, not a reality, as the poverty rate lingers at 15.5% from 2023.
Failed Post-Pandemic Recovery: The Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD), headed by Secretary Rex Gatchalian, rolled out the Walang Gutom food stamp program, reaching 300,000 by mid-2024. Yet hunger soars. Why? Inefficient aid distribution, patchy targeting—families like Maria’s slip through the cracks. A proposed PHP 229.7 billion budget for 2025 sounds impressive, but it’s a drop in the bucket when 27.2% of 115 million Filipinos can’t eat.

Where’s the Outrage? Holding the Powerful to the Fire

Since 2020’s hunger peak, what’s changed?

The DA’s 2025 budget plea for PHP 513 billion promises farm infrastructure, but where’s the urgency to modernize now?
NEDA’s Philippine Development Plan 2023-2028 dreams of 6-8% growth, yet fails to bridge the chasm between Manila’s skyscrapers and Visayas’ mud huts.
DSWD’s aid programs limp along, hamstrung by bureaucracy while children starve.

These aren’t mere lapses—they’re a refusal to confront a crisis staring leaders in the face.

Contrast this with Brazil’s Fome Zero (Zero Hunger) under Lula da Silva in 2003: Facing hunger rates rivaling the Philippines’ today, Brazil blended cash transfers, school meals, and farmer support—cutting food insecurity by half in a decade. The Philippines has no equivalent vision, just piecemeal fixes that crumble under pressure. Where’s the political will to say, “No more”?

From Hollow Bellies to Hope: Solutions That Can’t Wait

Short-term:

Expand food stamps to millions, not thousands—make them cash, not vouchers, so Maria can buy what her kids need.
Flood schools with free meals—a hungry child can’t learn, and an uneducated generation dooms the future.

Long-term:

Overhaul agriculture: land reform to empower small farmers, climate-resilient crops to defy typhoons, subsidies that actually reach Juan’s fields.
Economic policy must shift—tax the rich, fund jobs, cap food prices when inflation bites.

If Manila falters, the world must step in. The UN’s Food and Agriculture Organization and the World Bank have the tools—technical aid, emergency funds—to prop up a system teetering on collapse. Hunger isn’t a Filipino problem; it’s a human one.

The Last Supper: A Call to Rise Up

This isn’t just a policy failure; it’s a betrayal of humanity. Picture Maria’s hollow stare, Juan’s calloused hands clutching nothing. Then ask: How many more nights must they endure?

The Philippines stands at a crossroads—act now, or consign millions to a hunger that gnaws not just at bodies, but at the soul of a nation.

Leaders, the clock is ticking. What will you tell the children when it stops?