By Dhel Sue Cabiara
Power outages are common among Filipino households, people are used to occasional announcements that their power supply may be cut off for a specific period of time. But what if this happens too often?
In May 2025, Siquijor Island experienced outages that significantly affected the lives of its residents. What began as sporadic brownouts has quickly escalated into a full-blown power crisis. Fueled by high demands and the rise of the island’s tourism industry, 2-hour brownouts turned into having electricity for only two hours a day.
The island does not run on a renewable energy source or large-scale coal-powered plants like other provinces in the country, and at the center of this crisis was SIPCOR (Siquijor Island Power Corporation), the island’s sole power provider.
The corporation is a subsidiary of Prime Asset Ventures, owned by the Villars. They operate on eight diesel generator units, but as the crisis continued, only a number of these units remained functional. The electricity demand reaches nearly 9 megawatts, SIPCOR delivered less than that, and Siquijor was thrusted into daily brownouts.
However, it was only after national media attention that measures were taken. The provincial government declared a state of calamity and the Department of Energy (DOE), along with the National Electrification Administration (NEA) helped in deploying emergency generators to restore power supply.
Rental generators were brought in from Palawan and Cebu. Eventually, even President Marcos visited the island, issuing SIPCOR a six-month ultimatum: fix the problem, or be replaced. Upon this order, SIPCOR acted and by mid-June, power returned to stable levels. The crisis was technically resolved.
Residents have been vocal on this issue ever since it escalated. Amidst the chaos and darkness, their voices were clearly heard. Their voices were more than audible—it was visible. But were they heard? Were they seen?
Why were solutions only taken and executed when the issue reached national spotlight?
This is an ineffective grip on power—an entire province became subjected to a poorly managed single system which was supposed to oversee solutions but could not seem to provide it. When the diesel generators broke down, there was no contingency plan, no immediate public explanation, no transparency. Instead, there was silence—and darkness.
Whether to manage, govern, or lead, those who hold power must be proactive, not performative. They must anticipate rather than apologize. And they must not forget that power derives not solely from responsibility, but from the people they serve. This issue opens the question: when light goes out, what kind of power remains.
