The Philippines has been struck by back-to-back vehicular tragedies that have left families shattered and the nation grieving. On May 1, a horrific multi-vehicle collision on the Subic-Clark-Tarlac Expressway claimed 10 lives, including four children, when a Solid North passenger bus slammed into vehicles at a toll plaza. The driver reportedly fell asleep at the wheel, triggering a deadly chain reaction.

Just days later, on May 4, a black SUV ploughed into the departure area of Terminal 1 at Ninoy Aquino International Airport, killing a five-year-old girl and a 29-year-old man, and injuring four others. The driver, in a moment of panic, allegedly mistook the gas pedal for the brake. These incidents, though distinct, share a grim thread: They expose the Philippines’ persistent failure to act proactively to prevent such preventable disasters.

Each tragedy follows a painfully familiar script. The public mourns, social media erupts with outrage, and politicians seize the moment to issue impassioned calls for reform. President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. responded to these incidents with a directive for “swift action and accountability,” ordering the Department of Transportation to enforce stricter driver licensing and audit bus operators. Senator Grace Poe, vice chair of the Senate public services committee, renewed her push for a Philippine Transportation Safety Board to investigate transport incidents. These are noble words, but they ring hollow when viewed against decades of inaction.

The data paints a dire picture. According to the Philippine Statistics Authority, 12,240 people died in road crashes in 2022 alone—11 deaths per 100,000 people. Depending on which data source you use, road traffic collisions seem to have increased anywhere between 3% and 6% annually over the last decade, and data from the PSA indicates that road traffic deaths increased by 40% from 7,938 deaths in 2011 to 11,096 deaths in 2021. These figures are positively insane, especially when you consider that the number of crashes is going down in other places—Europe, for example. They indicate that something is drastically wrong around here—that the country is going into a totally wrong direction where road safety is concerned, and that there is an urgent need for change.

The World Health Organization notes that road injuries are the leading cause of death for Filipinos aged five to 29, with reckless driving, poor road maintenance, weak enforcement, and inadequate driver training as key culprits. Yet, despite these alarming figures, the response remains reactive. After the SCTEX crash, the entire 270-bus fleet of Solid North was grounded. After the NAIA incident, discussions about installing bollards at airport entrances gained traction. Why weren’t these measures in place before lives were lost?

This reactive mindset is deeply entrenched. In 2013, a bus plummeted off the Metro Manila Skyway, killing 19 people due to speeding and maintenance issues. The response? Temporary suspensions and promises of reform. In 2024, a viral video of a counterflowing motorcycle on Skyway Stage 3 ended in a fatal crash, prompting fleeting outrage but no systemic change. Time and time again, it’s the same old game: Action only follows tragedy, and even then, it’s often cosmetic.

Metro Manila’s traffic woes, dubbed “world-class” by critics, are a case study in neglected planning. The MMETROPLAN of 1975, the MMUTSTRAPP of 1984, and the MMUTIS of 1998 proposed comprehensive solutions like rail transit and busways, yet implementation has been piecemeal. A 2011 Transport Road Map envisioned 137km of new roads and 200km of rail by 2030, but budget constraints and political inertia have stalled progress. The result? A state of Wild Wild West on a congested road network where tricycles, motorbikes, jeepneys, cars and anything else with wheels are competing to get from A to B no matter what. Add to this the fact that the country still hasn’t managed to at least get rid of street-level corruption, which makes a mockery of enforcement and destroys the stable basis required for civilized and organized road transport, and you can start to understand why the Philippines is in a mess and falling behind its neighbors and the rest of the world.

The NAIA crash underscores another missed opportunity. Airports are critical infrastructure, yet Terminal 1 lacked robust barriers to prevent vehicles from breaching pedestrian areas. Pictures that circulated online after the incident showed that the bollard had been attached with four short bolts, rather than being fitted with a solid concrete and steel foundation. It seemed to be more decorative than protective, and—typical Philippines—questions are now being asked if corners might have been cut during their construction. The existing bollards were inadequate, and only now, after two deaths, are authorities considering upgrades. This is not foresight; it’s hindsight dressed up as policy.

Calls for change by politicians are met with skepticism because history shows little follow-through. The Land Transportation Office suspended the NAIA driver’s license and mandated a drug test, but what about systemic issues like driver training or vehicle inspections? The DOTr’s audits of bus operators are a start, but why weren’t these standard practice before the SCTEX crash? The problem isn’t just leadership—it’s a culture of complacency across agencies.

Proactive measures—rigorous driver education, regular vehicle maintenance checks, advanced road safety infrastructure, and consistent law enforcement—could save thousands of lives annually. Other countries offer models: Japan’s stringent driver licensing and Singapore’s comprehensive traffic management systems have drastically reduced road fatalities. The Philippines doesn’t lack plans—it lacks the will to execute them.

The SCTEX and NAIA tragedies are not isolated incidents, but symptoms of a deeper malaise. Each life lost is a reminder that reactive gestures—suspending licenses, grounding fleets, or promising investigations—are not enough. Change requires sustained commitment, not sound bites. We must demand more than condolences and temporary fixes. Leaders must be held accountable for policies that prioritize headlines over safety. Because if we don’t, the next tragedy is not a matter of if, but when.

Don’t say you are shocked. Say that you will change, because change starts with us all.