I have lived in Lipa City long enough to know where the boundary lies between quiet mornings and a string of incidents that unsettles a neighborhood. This year began with headlines that felt personal. If the January 22 death of a missing 17-year-old girl in Barangay Sico shocked the Lipeños, the following week’s incident added another layer of fear and scrutiny.
On January 28, there was a homeowner in Barangay Maraouy firing at a vehicle full of six students after a doorbell prank. No one was hurt, but the sight of a gun being drawn—so close to home—stung. Authorities filed charges of attempted murder and child abuse, and the case has lingered in the public imagination as a scare that can seep into ordinary, everyday routines. The city the Lipeños love feels more unsettled now. I know I am not alone in that hollow worry.
The Batangas Provincial Public Information Office’s Jan–July 2025 report placed Lipa City at the top of the province for theft (202 incidents) and rape cases (134, including 24 related reports). Numbers like that do not just sit on a page. They rather echo in conversations in bus terminals, in coffee shops, and in corridors of our schools. They shape how we move through the city, when we walk alone, and how wary we become of those we have known for years.
I also recall that Calabarzon’s most wanted person, an alleged serial sex offender identified as “Oscar,” was arrested in 2024 in Lipa City. This reminds us that the line between criminal networks and our ordinary streets is thinner than we would like to admit. That arrest should have resulted in stronger, smarter policing and should have not faded into rumor as the next story dominated the feeds.
It is easy to respond with a flood of panic, to see every passerby as a potential threat. But fear, while natural, can also narrow our view to danger and obstruct the work we all must do to keep each other safe. I want to acknowledge that fear—because fear is real for me, too. I am a woman who has faced harassment, sometimes in the most public of places, and I understand the instinct to shield oneself from what feels like an assault on daily life. Yet fear cannot be our only compass.
I think safety in practical terms begins with visibility and vigilance, not paranoia. It means brighter street lighting and well-maintained sidewalks that invite pedestrians. It means more neighborhood watch initiatives, where residents know their neighbors and can report unusual activity without fear of being dismissed. It means police presence that is calibrated, respectful, and responsive.
It also means schools and families investing in safety education—how to de-escalate conflict, how to report concerns, and how to support victims of crime. It means business owners and commuters sharing information about potential threats and safe routes. And it means the media reporting with accuracy and empathy, avoiding sensationalism that feeds panic while still informing the public.
The numbers—losses to theft and shocks of sexual violence—are not just statistics. They are stories of students who lock car doors after a prank gone wrong, of mothers who worry while their children walk to class, of shopkeepers who test new security cameras, and of teachers who organize safer routes for field trips.
I am not resigning myself to fear, nor am I ignoring the risks. I am choosing to believe in a community that acts together. If we face these challenges with candor and courage, Lipa City can become not a city paralyzed by crime, but a city strengthened by resolve.|.
