When the government fails, who speaks for the people?
In the case of the San Juanico Bridge closure, Waraynon and publisher Raymundo Junia has taken the bold and necessary step of filing a formal complaint against the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH).
His charge? Gross negligence.
This complaint is not a mere formality. It is a challenge to a culture of neglect that has plagued Philippine infrastructure for decades.
The San Juanico Bridge is not an ordinary structure. At 2.16 kilometers, it is the country’s longest bridge across a body of seawater and an iconic symbol of Eastern Visayas.
Since its inauguration in 1973, it has stood as both a lifeline and a landmark, connecting the islands of Leyte and Samar. For the people of the region, it is indispensable.
Yet, for all its importance, the DPWH allowed it to fall into decay.
Junia’s complaint strikes at the heart of this negligence. He asserts what many commuters, business owners, and ordinary citizens have long observed: the deterioration of the bridge did not happen overnight.
Maintenance is a matter of foresight, planning, and responsibility.
The DPWH, however, failed on all three counts. Instead of preventive care, the agency allowed years of wear and tear to pile up.
And when the bridge could no longer be ignored, its solution was to suddenly and indefinitely close it—without advisories, without viable alternatives, and without a rehabilitation timeline.
The consequences have been brutal. Small businesses have been crippled by delivery delays and skyrocketing transport costs.
Workers and students now face longer and more expensive journeys just to make a living or pursue their education. Transport operators struggle to absorb rerouting costs, forcing many to cut services. Families, too, are suffering, with some literally separated by the closure of this lifeline.
What Junia has put into writing is the lived reality of Eastern Visayas: people are paying the price of DPWH’s incompetence.
What makes Junia’s action remarkable is its rarity. In a country where citizens too often accept inefficiency as inevitable, he has chosen to fight back.
By filing a complaint, he has elevated public anger into a legal and moral challenge. His move forces the DPWH to answer not just to commuters and business groups, but before the eyes of the law.
It is an act of courage, one that transforms frustration into accountability.
The San Juanico Bridge was once hailed as the “bridge to progress,” a proud achievement of Philippine engineering. Standing proud even against the strongest typhoon, Super Typhoon Yolanda.
Now, because of neglect, it stands as a cautionary tale. If this most iconic of structures can be abandoned, what confidence should Filipinos have in the countless other bridges, highways, and public works under DPWH’s care?
Junia’s complaint is not just about one bridge—it is about a pattern of failure that endangers lives and livelihoods nationwide.
The DPWH, for its part, has offered little more than vague reassurances. Engineers may be inspecting the bridge, but without transparency, timelines, or concrete rehabilitation plans, inspections are hollow.
The people of Eastern Visayas do not need vague promises; they need solutions. They deserve to know when the bridge will reopen, how it will be fixed, and why it was neglected in the first place.
Junia’s stand is a wake-up call. It reminds us that negligence has consequences, and that the public has the power to demand accountability. His complaint is more than a grievance—it is a declaration that the people will no longer tolerate decay disguised as governance.
The San Juanico Bridge deserves better. Eastern Visayas deserves better. And the DPWH must finally be held accountable.
This is not just Junia’s fight. It is the fight of every Filipino who depends on the government to do its job—and who deserves more than excuses.
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