Dinagyang has always been the kind of festival you can feel before you see. Still, let us be honest: for many Ilonggos, seeing is part of feeling. Banderitas are not just decoration; they are the city’s early “good morning,” the first visual cue that tells commuters, teachers, vendors, and students, “Dinagyang week has begun, adjust your pace, your mood, your budget, and your heart.” That is why the update that banderitas will return—selectively, in proper zones—is a welcome “just-in” development. It keeps the festival from looking like it is happening only on the stage and inside the schedule. It restores the public atmosphere that makes Dinagyang feel shared, not gated. If the city wanted proof that banderitas matter, it already got it from the public reaction: people were not asking for luxury; they were asking for the familiar language of fiesta.
What is less welcome is the way the decision evolved late in the process. A festival as large as Dinagyang does not run on vibes; it runs on early planning, clear messaging, and predictable execution. When decisions swing from “no banderitas” to “yes, but only in selected areas” close to the D-day weekend itself, it does not just confuse the public. Late decisions carry a cost. Businesses adjust inventory, general services set job orders, families fix plans, jeepney routes change, teachers set deadlines, and tourists plan their days based on city signals. When those signals shift, time, effort, and money are quietly lost. A change in décor is not merely aesthetic; it is part of the city’s choreography. Last-minute adjustments cost not only money, but also lost opportunities. It is also the loss of confidence that the city knows what it is doing.
The bigger missed opportunity is timing. Banderitas put up a week earlier would have done something priceless: it would have primed the city. The first five days of Dinagyang week are not the “main events,” but they are the emotional runway. That runway matters. People begin to dress differently, walk differently, buy differently, post differently. Even in schools, you can sense it: school mates, offices mates, batchmates, ka-barangays talk about where they will watch, what they will eat, which friend group will “magkitaay sa downtown.” Banderitas during that week would have served as daily, silent hype—no need for loud announcements—just color overhead reminding everyone that the festival is not a one-day performance but a week-long mood. If the city is serious about tourism and public ownership, that week (or weeks) is not an extra. It is the warm-up that makes the climax feel earned.
All that said, the shape of the revised decision is, in my view, the right one. Keeping banderitas off Calle Real is not anti-tradition; it is pro-place. Calle Real—especially JM Basa Street—has earned the right to be seen clearly. Clearing the overhead wires gave Calle Real back its face. What emerged is a rare stretch of city where history and heritage can be seen, not guessed. With the sky open, the old façades and architectures quietly tell stories of endurance and change. Dense banderitas hung low would blur that clarity and take away what was so carefully restored. So yes: keep the cable-and-wire-free Calle Real open. Let it breathe. Let it photograph well, not for vanity, but for memory.
Meanwhile, putting banderitas in selected, appropriate zones makes cultural sense. The food festival areas, sadsad spaces, concert zones, and non-performance streets are where people linger, eat, laugh, and rediscover one another. Those places can carry the festive “roof” because they are meant for gathering, not for tall props and fast-moving choreography. This is also where banderitas behave as they were meant to behave: as mood-makers. In performance corridors, banderitas can become hazards—snagging on sets, disrupting drone lines, or turning into last-minute distractions for dancers who already carry enough risk in their costumes and formations. A zoned approach respects both the performers’ safety and the audience’s desire for a city that looks alive. It is the compromise that does not feel like surrender; it feels like proper placement.
There is also a practical reality everyone is tired of pretending does not exist: garbage. It is easy to romanticize banderitas until you see them after the festival—torn by wind, soaked by rain, stripped down in haste, then piled somewhere like the festival’s forgotten afterthought. If the banderitas are plastic and designed for single use, the celebration ends but the waste stays. People often complain about clogged canals and dirty sidewalks as if those things appear by magic. They do not. They come from small, repeated choices multiplied by a million festival moments. Environmental concerns are not a fad, and for a region connected to waterways and coasts, festival waste is not just a city cleanup issue. It becomes a community health and livelihood issue over time. Keeping banderitas should also mean keeping responsibility. That starts with materials that can be reused, stored, fixed, or composted, so the celebration does not leave a long trail of plastic behind.
There is nothing moralistic about this. It is simply practical. Reusable cloth décor already works in real life. Many schools and barangays keep the same curtains, parol frames, and stage pieces for years, making the most of what they have. The same logic can apply to festival buntings. Keep the designs Dinagyang-centered rather than logo-centered. If sponsors must participate, let the credit appear in designated signages or program acknowledgments, not across every flag like a floating billboard. If a year marker is needed, make it removable—tags that can be tied on and removed—so the same banderitas can return next year without looking like leftovers. This is not about being “perfect.” It is about being practical with a longer memory, the kind of thinking we usually demand from teachers when we ask them to prepare students not just for exams, but for life.
So yes, the update is welcome. It brings back the fiesta mood without forcing banderitas into places they do not fit. This was never about choosing between tradition and progress, but about doing tradition with care. The mistake was the delay. Next time, decisions should be early and clear. A good Dinagyang is joyful yet organized, colorful yet respectful, and confident enough to let some streets speak for themselves. If Calle Real stays open and selected zones bloom with banderitas a week ahead next year, the city will not only look festive. It will look like it planned well—and that, in itself, is a form of respect for the people who keep Dinagyang alive.|
