Mindanao Rising: A Comprehensive Look at the Green Party of the Philippines' Environmental Forum and Local Consultation

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

In a powerful four-day event, from July 25 to 28, 2025, the Green Party of the Philippines (GPP) took a decisive step towards building a national environmental agenda rooted in local experiences with the "Mindanao Greens Environmental Forum". The assembly, themed "Mindanao Rising: Empowering Local Leaders for Environmental Action," was a dynamic project designed to unite political parties and stakeholders around a common goal of a just and inclusive green transition. It was held in Koronadal City on July 27, 2025, and included a series of consultations and activities.

The journey began with the arrival of participants in Cotabato City on the afternoon of July 25. Our Internal Vice President, Emmie Cordero, was there to welcome us at the airport and even took us around to explore a bit of Cotabato including a courtesy call to the office of the city Agriculturist at the People's Palace and lunch at the ramen place of the Kutawato Greenland Initiatives (KGI). The following day, July 26, 2025, was dedicated to a "Mangrove Day Mindanao-wide Planting Activity," a hands-on demonstration of environmental commitment. After a gathering at the city plaza where the old city hall is located, all roads lead to the mangrove planting site with all the five officers from Manila of the Green Party of the Philippines composed of Chairman David D'Angelo, President Jeph Ramos, External Vice President Ross Flores Del Rosario, Auditor Reach Penaflor and Communications Officer Ranne Tubig were present to participate in the mangrove planting activity. They all rode at the back of a pickup towards just one of the destinations of this huge activity joined by several stakeholders from not just the LGUs but also from youth organizations all eager to take part in this noble effort to save and protect our environment. Afterwards, another short stopover at the grandest mosque in Cotabato, and then the participants finally traveled to Koronadal City for an overnight stay in preparation for the main event, though the road trip going to our venue was also full of trivia as our resident from Cotabato, GPP's Internal Vice President, Emmie Cordero, shared lots of information about the places we passed by.

The core of the forum took place on July 27, a full day of activities at Villa Princessita in Koronadal City. The program was a strategic mix of presentations and interactive sessions, beginning with welcome remarks from Emmie Lee Cordero, Vice President for Internal Affairs of the GPP. Joseph Ramos, the National President, discussed the event's objectives and provided a national situationer, while GPP Chairperson David D’Angelo introduced the party to the attendees. Local situationers were delivered by convenors from various Mindanao regions like Paul Montecillo and Lexi Acosta, providing a stark look at the on-the-ground realities. The afternoon sessions included a presentation of "Green Survey and Project Study Presentation of Results" by Engr. Richard Penaflor, the GPP National Auditor. Engr. Penaflor is a respected Green Advocate and River Warrior, and a former Deputy Executive Director of the Pasig River Rehabilitation Commission (PRRC).

A critical component of the forum was the Focus Group Discussion (FGD), a qualitative research method designed to gather in-depth, nuanced information from the grassroots. Participants were divided into small groups of 10-15 people with similar backgrounds, arranged in a circular manner to foster open interaction. Facilitated by a trained moderator, the FGD aimed to explore participants' attitudes, perceptions, and experiences through three open-ended questions.

The FGD process was meticulous. Participants first individually wrote their answers on colored "meta-cards". The three questions were:

What are the environmental and social issues and challenges affecting you and your organizations in the Mindanao Region? (answered on an orange card) 

What do you think are the solutions that need to be done by you and your organization? (answered on a pink card) 

What intervention or assistance do you need from the GPP to solve these issues? (answered on a yellow card) 

Following the individual responses, each participant shared their views with the group. The moderator's role was crucial in keeping the discussion focused and on topic. Finally, each team presented the outcome of their discussion in a plenary session, and all outputs were collected for further analysis to inform the GPP's action plans. The forum concluded with the election of Mindanao Officers for the Green Party of the Philippines and a commitment ceremony led by Chairman David D'Angelo.

To gauge the forum's success, participants were also asked to fill out an evaluation form. They rated various aspects of the event on a scale of 1 to 5, with 5 being the highest. The areas for evaluation included the venue, food, program, speakers, and the overall team organization. The form also included open-ended questions asking what kept them involved, their biggest learning, and what aspects needed improvement. This dual-pronged approach of qualitative FGDs and quantitative evaluations ensured the GPP gathered comprehensive feedback to guide their future efforts.

Contact and refer to the Facebook page for more details and photos/videos from the forums and consultations:

The Green Party of the Philippines

Quiz Show or Crisis Signal? “Bilyonaryo Quiz B” and the Spectacle of Philippine Education

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

In a nation where primetime TV has long been the playground of singing contests, slapstick sitcoms, and romanticized celebrity houses, the quiet resurgence of a quiz bee show feels almost revolutionary—if not ironically nostalgic. “Bilyonaryo Quiz B”, a program that pits college students against each other in intellectual battles, is a throwback to a more academically idealized time in Philippine television. But beneath its gamified charm and cash prize luster lies a disturbing question: Are we celebrating intellect—or simply exposing the wounds of a broken education system?

Hosted by the ever-composed and intellectually formidable David Celdran, “Bilyonaryo Quiz B” revives a classic format many thought dead: the televised quiz bee. Each week, students face off in buzzer rounds covering six classic subjects: History, Science and Technology, Arts and Literature, Math and Logic, Geography and Nature, and General Information. It’s neat, nostalgic, and seemingly noble. A millionaire is crowned at the end. The sponsors, never verbally acknowledged, loom visually on screen—a quiet reminder that even knowledge must now play to capital.

But as the show’s episodes roll out, viewers are left with more furrowed brows than awe-struck gasps. Contestants stumble on the Cavite Mutiny, bungle human chromosomes, and seem more shell-shocked than sharp. Is it just the lights and pressure? Or is this show unintentionally laying bare a national crisis that can no longer be hidden behind PowerPoints and Department of Education press releases?

Behind the Buzzer: A Crisis in Disguise

The Philippines is currently suffering from a full-blown education emergency. According to recent reports, including one published by the Inquirer, our PISA (Programme for International Student Assessment) results are abysmal, ranking among the lowest globally in reading, science, and math. The fallout from years of budget cuts, outdated pedagogical approaches, learning poverty, and systemic inequality is now being aired in primetime, one missed question at a time.

It’s not just about academic underperformance. The very model of education promoted in recent decades—what Brazilian philosopher Paolo Freire called the “banking model”—treats students as empty accounts waiting to be filled with data rather than empowered individuals capable of critical thought and transformation. In this light, quiz shows like Bilyonaryo Quiz B, though well-meaning, become bittersweet: a flash of hope in a dim landscape, but also a mirror reflecting everything we’ve lost.

From “Battle of the Brains” to “Brain Drain”

In the 1990s, Battle of the Brains wasn’t just a game show; it was a national event. It validated intelligence in a country often obsessed with beauty pageants and telenovela tears. It made nerds cool. And it proved that TV could be both entertaining and educational.

Fast forward to today, and the media landscape is a circus of gimmicks. Quiz shows now flirt with the absurd—Quizmosa, for instance, tests celebrity gossip rather than geography or science. Even adaptations of globally respected formats like Who Wants to Be a Millionaire are overloaded with suspenseful lights and cinematic music, more drama than data.

The digital age hasn’t helped. While we have more information than ever at our fingertips, attention spans have cratered. Intellectual curiosity is competing with viral dances, misinformation, and instant gratification. In a world of 15-second reels, how do you get anyone to care about the GDP of Laos?

Intellectual Capitalism: Is Knowledge for Sale?

The very platform producing Bilyonaryo Quiz B—the Bilyonaryo News Channel—is owned by a corporation known for profiling the lives of the ultra-wealthy. That context matters. When billionaires host quiz bees, it's not just entertainment; it's commentary. And it raises a question: Is this a genuine attempt to revive intellectual curiosity, or is knowledge simply being rebranded as a premium product—one you can monetize, gamify, and sell?

With its million-peso prize, “Bilyonaryo Quiz B” makes intelligence aspirational again. But it also commodifies it. Knowledge becomes spectacle, packaged for viewership, ratings, and sponsorship. In this sense, the show becomes both a resistance and a reinforcement: resisting ignorance, but reinforcing the idea that education, like everything else, must perform under capitalism’s spotlight to matter.

The Show Must Go On?

Let’s be clear: Bilyonaryo Quiz B is not the enemy. In fact, it may be one of the few recent efforts to restore dignity to intellectual pursuits in mainstream media. But like a bandage on a bullet wound, its presence does not cure the deeper hemorrhaging of our education system—it only conceals it momentarily.

That college students struggle to answer what were once basic questions is not a failure of the show. It is a symptom of something far graver: a generation raised on diluted curricula, underfunded schools, and a society that values fame over facts. It’s also a generation battling digital addiction, economic instability, and political disillusionment.

And yet, there’s something admirable about how Bilyonaryo Quiz B insists on intelligence in a time of noise. It insists that knowledge still has a place in the national consciousness, even if it has to fight for airtime between love teams and lip syncs.

Final Answer?

In a world where education is both politicized and privatized, Bilyonaryo Quiz B is less a savior and more a symbol. A symbol of what we once had, what we desperately need, and what we risk losing entirely. It is a love letter to a country that once revered its scholars and a warning to a future that might forget them.

So while it may never overhaul a system plagued by inequality, corruption, and pedagogical decay, perhaps this show can spark something small—curiosity, conversation, even conviction. Because before you change a nation, you must first ask it questions.

And maybe, just maybe, it will start buzzing back. 

THE IRONY OF INJUSTICE: Floodwaters, Gambling, and the Death of a Son

Wazzup Pilipinas!?

It was one of those nights in Metro Manila when the boundaries between land and sea ceased to exist. In Malabon and Navotas, torrential monsoon rains transformed roads into rivers. Families barricaded their homes, resigned to yet another flood—but for one family, it wasn’t just their belongings that were swept away. It was their hope.

On Tuesday, July 22, a father of six vanished. Not swept by waters—but by a broken system. His crime? Allegedly playing kara y krus, a coin-flipping street game that has now become a criminal offense under a draconian law passed in 1978—during the reign of Ferdinand Marcos Sr. That law was once justified as a safeguard against the vices that preyed on the poor. Decades later, not a single major gambling operator has been jailed under it. Only the nameless and powerless continue to be arrested.

This time, it was Gelo’s father.

Gelo—Dion Angelo, a 20-year-old college student and the eldest among six siblings—had no idea where his father had gone. Alongside his mother Jennylyn, who is blind in one eye, he began searching, sloshing through filthy, waist-deep floodwaters. Their journey was driven by panic and love.

For days, every police station in Caloocan, Malabon, and Navotas claimed ignorance. The family was left to suffer in suspense, until finally, on July 25, Gelo found his father shackled to five other detainees in a hidden corner of a precinct. He had been there all along. No calls. No records shown. The police, in silent conspiracy, had chosen to erase him.

Bail was set at ₱30,000—a laughable impossibility for a family living hand-to-mouth. As Gelo returned daily to bring his father food, wading through flood and filth, the cost was rising—not just financially, but physically. His body, overwhelmed by the toxic waters, began to fail.

By Sunday, July 27, Gelo was feverish. He apologized to his mother for not being able to visit the precinct or serve Mass that day. He was in pain. But he was still thinking of his father’s freedom.

That night, while his three-year-old sister slept nearby, Gelo’s breath stopped. The disease leptospirosis, transmitted through rat urine in floodwaters, had silently poisoned him.

He died not because of a game of chance, but because of a system that gambles with the lives of the poor.

A CRIME AGAINST HOPE

What is more criminal? A man playing a coin game to forget his hunger for a moment—or a state institution turning mobile phones into slot machines and enticing children into lifelong addiction?

Gelo’s father was arrested for a crime so minor that most would not even consider it one. Meanwhile, PAGCOR—the Philippine Amusement and Gaming Corporation—runs a sprawling web of online gambling operations under the guise of national revenue. The law is used not to protect the poor, but to make them pay for their poverty.

Once upon a time, laws prevented minors from entering casinos. Slot machines were forbidden in public places. Now, a child can place a bet online before learning to read a clock. Every mobile device is a casino. And if gambling is an addiction, then the government is the dealer.

How many children have watched their families fall apart in silence, while the state counts profits?

The hypocrisy is suffocating. In one hand, the government pushes gambling like sugar-coated poison. In the other, it imprisons the poor for indulging in it.

GELO: THE MARTYR OF A BROKEN SYSTEM

Gelo was not just a student. He was the family’s future. Studying Human Resource Services at Malabon City College, he dreamed of lifting his siblings from the slums, of giving his blind mother rest. Instead, he became a victim of two interconnected plagues: flooding from corruption, and injustice from weaponized poverty.

The same week Gelo died, the Catholic Bishops' Conference of the Philippines released a statement condemning online gambling. Kalookan Bishop Pablo Virgilio David, in another pastoral letter, condemned the corruption that allows flood control systems to fail despite billions in allocated funds. In Gelo’s death, those two evils collided.

The floodgate in their area had been broken for years. Just recently, ₱281 million had been allocated for its repair. Nothing changed. Corruption had stolen both infrastructure and security.

So while government agencies squander public funds, Gelo walked barefoot through diseased waters. And while high-ranking officials toast at casino tables, his family couldn’t even afford a funeral parlor for his wake. They held vigil on the street, beside traffic and noise.

A FATHER’S GRIEF, A NATION’S SHAME

When Gelo’s father heard about his son’s death, still chained behind bars, his wails echoed through the precinct. He blamed himself. He blamed God. He had been robbed not just of freedom, but of the chance to hold his son one last time.

And yet, the police still pushed forward with the case, still demanded he face trial for a coin game. He was temporarily released, thanks to a kind soul who posted bail—but the weight of injustice remains.

The real question isn’t why Gelo died. The question is how we allowed a system where this is normal. Where warrantless arrests are tools of control, where the justice system incentivizes false confessions, and where thousands rot behind bars—not because of guilt, but because they are too poor to prove innocence.

Is this justice?

LET THE FLOOD OF RIGHTEOUSNESS FLOW

The Book of Amos says: “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.”

But in this country, the only thing that flows freely is the flood—of water, of corruption, of sorrow.

As a nation, we must mourn not only Gelo’s death, but our collective failure. This tragedy is not isolated. It is part of a pattern—a system calibrated to crush the poor while the rich dance above the law.

We must rise. Churches, schools, media, civil society—this is your moment to speak.

Gelo’s life was not in vain. His death must become a movement. A cry that wakes us up from numbness. A name we must never forget.

A FINAL WORD

Let Gelo’s story be told not just in whispered prayers, but in courtrooms, policy debates, protest rallies, and ballot boxes.

To the lawmakers—repeal outdated laws that are used as weapons against the poor.

To the police—enforce justice, not quotas.

To PAGCOR—stop pushing addiction under the guise of revenue.

To every Filipino—ask yourself: How many more Gelo’s must die before we say: “Enough.”

Let us not wait for the next flood to wash away another life. Let us be the storm that drowns injustice.