Stall 325

There are very few things I learned from my parents often from watching them. One of those quiet lessons was learned from endless tagging along on market runs and being the designated carrier of grocery bags.

Whenever we would go out for errands, we usually have two destinations. It was routinely, but not always in the same order: the grocery store for daily essentials and the market for fresh produce.

Even when supermarkets started to sell meats and have aisles for fruits and vegetables, my parents, if not always, mostly bought nateng ken karne from the market.

Their insistence on buying produce from the public market made me understand that the freshest fruits and vegetables are always sold there. Plus, it was convenient that the trading post, where fruits and vegetables from all parts of Benguet are unloaded for distribution, is one jeepney away. This made sense to me, a kid. Food was accessible in proximity.

It’s not that buying vegetables in grocery stores were a bad choice. It’s just that, to my parents, the market is a community; an acknowledgement of familiarity to the place they grew up in; the livelihood of their parents; and what was accessible back in their time.

Whether intentional or not, my upbringing mirrored my parents’ “buying habits.” As I earned my own money and learned budgeting, shopping at public markets became more than looking for the freshest greens or checking apples for bruises.

When I lived alone in a different city, my feet eventually found their way to the closest grocery, then the market. I remember weighing the pros and cons of the new apartment I lived in. I initially wanted to move somewhere close to the office, but ultimately decided to stay and stick with my two-ride commute from the apartment to my work, all because in between the two rides I would have to take, I would pass by THE farmer’s market. I truly felt like a grown up and enjoyed getting off from work and heading to the market to buy tomorrow’s lunch. I didn’t need to stock up on fresh produce and worry about it wilting in the fridge.

More than having access to fresh foods, local markets and talipapas allowed me, a twenty-one year old who was trying to stretch her paycheck to cover rent and food, to eat full meals. And maybe it’s just me, but buying fresh produce from the market have always felt like honoring the farmers and the vendors.

We often forget these people who make food accessible. From the farmer driving hours to deliver their produce at 4 a.m. to the seller opening their stall earlier than the morning worm. Right now, these very people are at risk: sellers at the market of being displaced and farmers of losing their bargaining power. Eventually, we, the consumer, will also lose our ability to choose affordability.

While improved infrastructure can benefit the city, recent track record shows that when governments and private developers fail to fully disclose plans and include the community in decision-making, the very people who sustain these markets bear the costs. We can’t overlook the labor of countless people whose livelihood are vulnerable to the privatization and opaque planning.

We’ve seen and heard of this story. Rents spike. Vendors are pushed out. Farmers and suppliers barely break even. And the public is left with a market that no longer serves the community it was built for. Affordability doesn’t come from nowhere, it comes from places that are built for the people and not for profit.

We need spaces to remain public for it to truly serve the public.