You do not need to live in Tehran, Tel Aviv, Caracas, or Washington to feel a war. Sometimes it reaches you while you are standing at a gasoline station in Jaro, watching the numbers jump faster than your patience. Sometimes it arrives in the market, where a vendor apologizes for the new price of pinakas as if she raised it herself. Sometimes it enters the classroom, where a teacher quietly decides to postpone printing handouts because diesel has become more urgent than bond paper. That is what many Filipinos are beginning to sense now. The US-Israeli war on Iran may sound far away on paper, but oil has a nasty habit of turning geography into fiction. Once the Strait of Hormuz is threatened, the distance between the Middle East and a tricycle terminal in a corner in Iloilo suddenly becomes one price board away.
The immediate danger is plain enough. After the February 28 US-Israeli strikes on Iran, oil markets turned uneasy and shipping in the Gulf tightened. Reuters reported that Kuwait cut production and declared force majeure, while analysts warned oil could climb past $100, even $150, if the conflict drags on. Fitch Ratings, to be fair, offers a cooler reading and says a sustained closure may still prove temporary because global inventories remain high. That is precisely why this moment feels so unnerving: the ceiling is frightening, the floor is unstable, and nobody in a public market pays for uncertainty with theory.
We are badly exposed because we are still, in plain language, an import-dependent oil economy wearing a brave face. Reporting this week noted that the country relies on imports for almost all of its oil needs, with about 90 percent tied to the Gulf. The Bureau of Customs said on March 8 that we have about two months of petroleum supply, and that should calm panic buying. Yet “may supply pa” is not the same as “safe na.” If next week’s minimum estimates hold, diesel will rise by ₱19 per liter, gasoline by ₱9, and kerosene by ₱31. The Department of Energy has already warned of the need for tighter monitoring against hoarding and unauthorized hikes. So yes, there is supply. But there is also a price shock marching toward us, and it does not need empty depots to inflict damage. It only needs dependence.
That is why the first real casualty will not be comfort. It will be purchasing power. Oil does not stay in the pump. It rides to the fish port, the rice mill, the bakery, the school service, the jeepney route, the delivery app, and the electric bill. Local reports say that motorists already cutting fuel purchases from full tanks to survival amounts, while Transport Network Vehicle Service (TNVS) drivers and jeepney operators spoke of margins evaporating into gasoline. The Energy Regulatory Commission has also warned that higher petroleum prices can spill into power generation charges, especially during peak hours. One does not need a PhD in economics to understand the chain reaction. A teacher in Passi who commutes daily, buys LPG, and helps send a child to school does not experience “geopolitical volatility.” She experiences a lunch budget becoming a transport budget. That is the crisis in its most Filipino form.
The government’s response, to its credit, has not been entirely sleepy. Malacañang has ordered energy-saving measures, including a temporary four-day onsite workweek for some executive offices, lower air-conditioning settings, and reduced fuel use in government. Agencies are preparing subsidies for public utility drivers, farmers, and fisherfolk. The DA has readied up to ₱150 million in fuel support for eligible farmers and fishers, while the LTFRB has set aside ₱2.5 billion for possible fuel assistance to drivers. Malacañang has also backed the idea of reducing fuel excise taxes, and the economic team has floated presidential authority to cut them if Dubai crude stays above the relevant threshold. These are not meaningless responses. They may buy time. But buying time is not the same as buying resilience. A four-day workweek may save fuel in an office, yet it does not lower the price of onions in the market, nor does it comfort a teacher whose salary is fixed while everything else behaves like it has been possessed.
This is where groups like IBON Foundation have struck a nerve, even for readers who do not agree with all their politics. Their core argument is hard to dismiss: when global prices jump, our own taxes and deregulated pricing system magnify the blow. IBON has long argued for scrapping fuel taxes and revisiting the Oil Deregulation Law, saying consumers carry too much of the burden when prices surge. That argument deserves consideration. Tax cuts are not a magic fix, since government still funds public needs. Yet if we are paying for a war we did not start, watching pump prices climb cannot be the entire policy.
The Venezuela angle matters here, too, even if it sits on a different page of the same global energy story. Venezuela’s crisis was not created by Washington alone; years of authoritarianism, corruption, policy blunders, and industrial decay did immense damage long before the latest headlines. But it is also no longer credible to pretend that US sanctions were merely a side note. Studies complicate the story. The US Government Accountability Office found that sanctions likely contributed to Venezuela’s economic collapse by reducing oil income. Analysts have argued that the “maximum pressure” approach often hurt ordinary Venezuelans while empowering rival powers. Reuters also reported that tighter U.S. sanctions and tariffs in 2025 reduced Venezuelan exports. That does not mean Washington alone caused the crisis, but it means its role cannot be ignored. In energy politics, Washington has not merely been a traffic enforcer. It has also, at times, been a reckless driver.
For us, especially teachers and school workers, the real test is not whether we can explain this crisply on Facebook. It is whether we can see how quickly global disorder enters local routine. A school principal worried about attendance may soon also worry about transport fare petitions. A canteen concessionaire already squeezed by food costs may quietly shrink portions. A parent deciding whether to send baon money or pay for mobile data may start cutting both. Even airlines have begun canceling flights to parts of the Middle East, and the labor department is preparing support for repatriated workers. That means remittances, jobs, and family plans could also feel the tremor. This is what makes oil crises different from ordinary political noise. They are not content to stay in the business section. They walk into the faculty room, the terminal, the sari-sari store, and the kitchen.
Still, panic is not policy. There is a difference between bracing and surrendering. Fitch’s view that global inventories are substantial and that a prolonged Strait of Hormuz shutdown may not last forever is worth keeping in mind. So is the BoC’s statement that there is no immediate physical shortage. In other words, this is not yet 1973 with coupons in the barangay hall and lanterns dimmed by decree, though older Pinoys may feel a familiar chill in the memory. Past crises teach a practical lesson. Countries with diverse energy sources, reliable transport, reserves, and safety nets handle oil shocks better. Renewable energy, strong transit, and targeted aid may seem ordinary, yet they show serious policymaking.
So yes, it is wise to brace ourselves. Not out of fear, but because denial costs more. If the conflict deepens and oil prices surge, the economic shock could be real. The country does not control the war or the sanctions shaping it. But it can control whether it responds with seriousness, imagination, and a bias for protecting those who always get hit first and recover last. The coming crisis, if it fully lands, will not introduce a new national weakness. It will expose an old one: how easily distant fires still find our pockets. And that, more than the headlines, is why this war should worry us.|
