Every day, thousands of us step out of our houses with the same routine. Bag on one shoulder, phone in hand, coins already separated for fare. We ride tricycles, jeepneys, habal-habal, sikad, because public transport is not a choice for most of us. It is a necessity. And with that necessity comes a quiet calculation of risk. We trust that we will arrive alive. We hope that nothing goes wrong on an ordinary ride home.
That trust feels thinner now.
When news broke about a tricycle driver being shot dead and a passenger nurse caught in the crossfire, it did not feel distant or extraordinary. It felt terrifyingly familiar. Because this is not just a crime story. This is a commuter story. A students’ story. A worker's story. A reminder that for many of us in General Santos City, mobility comes with fear built into it.
We ride tricycles because we have no choice. Students ride them because walking long distances is unsafe or impractical. Workers ride them because public transport routes are limited. Nurses, vendors, call center agents, night-shift workers all end up in the same cramped sidecar, trusting a stranger with our safety. When that space becomes a crime scene, the danger stops being hypothetical.
What makes this more unsettling is how quiet the response feels.
Every time a shooting happens, we get the same script: investigation ongoing, persons of interest identified, coordination underway. And then life moves on. Streets reopen. Tricycles line up again. Students commute again. Fear is absorbed into routine, like it always is. The city exhales and pretends that survival is the same as safety.
But surviving is not the standard.
For a city that prides itself on growth and progress, General Santos City seems disturbingly comfortable with neglecting the most basic responsibility of governance: protecting its people. We hear more noise about beautification projects, events, infrastructure plans, and economic slogans than about concrete measures to prevent violent crime. The priorities feel misplaced when commuters are left wondering if a regular ride home could end in bloodshed.
Security should not be reactive. It should not only appear after someone dies.
Where are the visible patrols in high-risk areas? Where is the consistent monitoring of public transport routes? Where is the assurance that commuters, especially those who travel at night, are protected? These are not unreasonable demands. These are bare minimum expectations for a functioning city.
For students, the fear cuts deeper. We are told to focus on our studies, to dream big, to build our future. But how do you focus when your daily commute feels like a risk assessment? When your parents remind you to update them the moment you arrive somewhere? When you memorize landmarks not for navigation, but for escape?
This kind of fear changes how a city is lived. It teaches people to move faster, speak less, trust less. It forces commuters to internalize danger as normal. That is not resilience. That is resignation.
What hurts most is the sense that violence is treated as isolated incidents instead of symptoms of a larger failure. A city that does not prioritize safety creates conditions where crime can repeat itself. When shooting incidents are met with silence or temporary concern, it sends a message that public fear is manageable, tolerable, acceptable.
It should not be.
General Santos City cannot keep branding itself as progressive while ignoring the anxiety of its commuters. You cannot celebrate development while citizens calculate survival every time they ride public transport. You cannot claim order when chaos slips into everyday life unnoticed.
A city cannot call itself progressive while its commuters travel in fear. Safety is not a privilege and not an afterthought. It is the most basic promise of governance, and right now, that promise feels fragile on every ride home.
This is not about demanding perfection. It is about demanding urgency.
Students should not fear their daily commute. Workers should not brace themselves every time they ride home. Nurses should not risk their lives simply by doing their jobs. Safety should not depend on luck, timing, or prayer.
A city is only as strong as the protection it offers its most ordinary people. And right now, General Santos City is failing the very people who keep it moving.
If public transport becomes a space of fear, then something is deeply wrong. And if the city continues to look away, then the question is no longer whether commuters are safe but how many more lives it will take before safety becomes a priority.
Written by Mark Luther P. Saturion (Aelius), Insight PH
Mark Luther P. Saturion (Aelius), Insight PH is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
