Gated progress

Progress is a beautiful word. It evokes a vision of movement, of lives getting better, of dreams drawing closer, of communities lifting themselves out of hardship. We see progress in highways, in GDP numbers, in ribbon-cutting ceremonies. But for many Filipinos, progress is something they only see, never something they can enter.

Because for all our talk of growth, we’ve designed a society where progress is gated. And too many of our people are left standing at the entrance without the right documents, the right connections or the right background to get in.

You see it everywhere. A young entrepreneur has a brilliant idea but can’t get a loan because they don’t have a credit history. A sari-sari store owner wants to grow but can’t formalize because the paperwork is overwhelming and the process takes months. A skilled tricycle driver is still considered unauthorized in certain zones, even if he’s the only transport option in his barangay. A mother wants to apply for government aid but has to travel hours to fall in line for a form she doesn’t understand, only to be told to return with another set of signatures.

This isn’t just inefficiency. It’s exclusion. It’s a system that says, “Yes, we have opportunities, but only for those who already have access.”

We often define poverty as the absence of money. But more often, it is the absence of options. When you don’t have a choice in how you move, how you earn or how you dream, you are not just financially poor. You are structurally trapped.

And this is precisely what gets lost when we reduce economic success to numbers like GDP or investor confidence. These figures may reflect growth at the top, but they rarely tell us how that growth feels on the ground. Because at its heart, the real economy isn’t built in boardrooms. It is carried by people who show up, work hard every day and keep the country moving despite the odds.

Poverty, in this light, isn’t simply a shortage of income. It is a shortage of meaningful choices. When people are boxed in by slow systems, broken transport and inaccessible services, they’re not just financially limited. They’re trapped.

True progress begins when we widen those choices, when we make it possible for people to decide where to live, how to earn and how to move through life with dignity and agency. That’s when development stops being abstract and starts becoming real. When the system clears the way instead of getting in the way.

But right now, the system feels like an obstacle course. It demands compliance before inclusion. It asks for receipts before it recognizes the work. And for the majority who live in the margins – riders, vendors, farmers, freelancers – the gates remain locked.

We need to reframe what inclusion means. It’s not just about giving people a seat at the table. It’s about redesigning the table so they don’t need to beg for a chair.

Progress must be designed for everyone, not just for the few who know how to navigate the maze. That means streamlining bureaucracy, cutting down red tape and delivering services in ways that don’t punish the poor for being poor.

Why, for instance, do we require physical presence for everything? In a country where travel is long, expensive and inaccessible for many, forcing people to go to offices for documents that could be delivered digitally is more than outdated. It’s unjust.

Why do we still equate formality with validity? Millions of Filipinos are working in the informal sector, not because they want to avoid taxes, but because the system hasn’t made it easy or worth it to formalize. When a street vendor or a motorcycle driver is treated like a nuisance instead of a contributor, we’re not just gatekeeping opportunity. We’re gatekeeping dignity.

And let’s not even start with financing. Try getting a bank loan without payslips, income tax records or property titles, even if you’ve been earning steadily for years. Even if your business has real cash flow. The doors remain closed.

But it doesn’t have to be this way.

Imagine if local governments offered micro-permits for sidewalk vendors with a simple digital form. Imagine if motorcycle taxis were fully legalized, regulated and integrated into our transport planning. Imagine if social protection systems were mobile-first and designed for gig workers, not just full-time employees. Imagine if we recognized people’s effort before demanding perfect compliance.

Technology is already making this possible. Platforms like Angkas have shown that with the right mix of structure and trust, even informal workers can become formal contributors, complete with benefits, training and social protection. The same can happen across other sectors. But the mindset has to shift from control to empowerment.

Progress should not be a fortress. It should be a common road. A road that anyone willing to walk or ride can take, regardless of where they started.

We have to start measuring our success not just by how high we build, but by how far we reach. Not just by the numbers we impress foreign investors with, but by the number of Filipinos who feel less stuck this year than they did last year.

The truth is, there is no shortage of hope in the Filipino. No shortage of creativity. No shortage of hustle. What we’re short on is access. And access is something we can fix, not overnight, but steadily, intentionally and boldly.

The gates of progress were not put there by fate. They were put there by design. And what is made can be unmade, if we have the courage to rethink how we govern, how we serve and who we build for.

The Filipino doesn’t lack potential. He lacks permission. He lacks a path. And progress that is gated is not progress at all.

If we want to call ourselves a developing nation, then let’s make sure development is something people can actually enter.

Let’s tear down the gates.