PROS AND CONS OF EMERGENCY EMPLOYMENT PROGRAMS

PROS AND CONS OF EMERGENCY EMPLOYMENT PROGRAMS

Emergency employment programs are, by their very nature, good. They offer people a chance to earn when they need it most—when disaster strikes, when jobs disappear, or when the economy slows down. In a country like ours, where typhoons, floods, and economic disruptions are regular visitors, these “work-for-cash” programs have become a lifeline for many families living from one pay envelope to the next.

The best example is the TUPAD program, short for Tulong Panghanapbuhay sa Ating Disadvantaged/Displaced Workers, a flagship initiative of the Department of Labor and Employment (DOLE). It provides short-term, community-based employment—usually lasting 10 to 30 days—for displaced, underemployed, or informal workers. The jobs range from street cleaning and community gardening to repairing public facilities and greening local areas. The workers are paid the regional minimum wage, supplied with protective gear, and even enrolled in micro-insurance.

So, what’s not to like? On paper, TUPAD and similar programs are both humane and practical. They provide rapid relief while restoring a sense of dignity to workers who prefer earning over begging. They also help local communities recover after disasters by mobilizing manpower for cleanups, repairs, and rehabilitation.

But here comes the hard question: Are these programs being implemented fairly and effectively?

This is where the pros and cons start to show.

On the positive side, emergency employment creates an immediate safety net for vulnerable sectors—fisherfolk, farmers, informal vendors, women, and indigenous people. It gives temporary income to those who need it most, while at the same time helping rebuild communities. It even promotes local empowerment when managed by barangays or cooperatives, allowing residents to take ownership of their recovery efforts.

However, on the negative side, the selection of beneficiaries often becomes politicized. Too many times, we hear of lists being filled only with names of people close to the mayor or the barangay chairman. Some are added not because of need, but because of utang na loob or political loyalty.

This is where I strongly suggest the use of digital transparency tools, especially blockchain technology. With blockchain, we can create tamper-proof records of beneficiaries—who has received aid, how much, and when. This prevents “double dipping” or ghost beneficiaries. It also ensures that those who are genuinely in need are prioritized, regardless of political affiliation.

But technology alone is not enough. We need to establish a national database of vulnerable workers—those below the poverty line, those who lose jobs during crises, and those in the informal sector. This would allow government agencies to deploy emergency employment efficiently and fairly. When disaster hits, we should already know who needs help, where they are, and what skills they can offer.

Another key issue is the quality of the work itself. Many emergency employment projects tend to be “for show”—cleanups that don’t last, or minor repairs that fall apart. If we are paying people to work, let that work create lasting community value. Why not assign them to maintain public cemeteries (supporting burial dignity), restore mangroves (for aquaculture), or clean waste streams (for circular design)? In other words, let emergency work lead to sustainable results.

Let’s be honest, though—short-term programs cannot replace long-term employment. Ten to thirty days of work is better than nothing, but it will not lift a family out of poverty. Without follow-up programs for skills training or cooperative membership, beneficiaries simply return to square one when the work ends.

That’s why I believe emergency employment should not end when the pay stops. It should transition into skills development, enterprise incubation, or cooperative integration. Imagine if every TUPAD worker automatically gained access to livelihood training or microcredit once their term ended. That way, emergency work becomes a bridge to permanent livelihood—not just a band-aid for poverty.

Then there’s the risk of dependency. Some people have come to expect TUPAD as a recurring benefit, not a temporary relief measure. To prevent this, local governments should integrate these programs into broader economic plans. Emergency work should not stand alone—it should connect to reforestation, waste management, aquaculture, or infrastructure projects that align with long-term goals.

Of course, politics remains the elephant in the room. The most important reform of all is depoliticization. Inclusion in these programs should never depend on who you voted for. Poverty knows no party; neither should relief.

To summarize:

Pros: Quick relief, social protection, local empowerment, community restoration.

Cons: Short duration, political favoritism, weak monitoring, and limited upskilling.

In my view, the ideal emergency employment system would blend compassion with innovation—digital databases for fairness, blockchain for accountability, and real work that leaves lasting community value. It should be fair, transparent, inclusive, and future-oriented.

We already have the tools, the manpower, and the models like TUPAD. What we need now is to use them wisely—to ensure that every peso spent builds not just livelihoods for a day, but resilience for a lifetime.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 03-20-2026