Two men were standing on the open bed, shifting big trash bags with their hands. No gloves. No masks. No boots. Just ordinary green long sleeve shirt (I'm assuming it's their uniform) and pants (one was wearing what looks like a pajama) and worn-out shoes while handling garbage.
My wife and I started talking about them right there at the light. Why are they working with zero protection? Is it just the heat? Walang supply? Or is there something much worse behind that one snapshot?
I went home wanting to answer that simple question. After a few hours of reading, the question changed. It was no longer "Why don't they have PPE?" It became: "Why are they treated as if they barely exist in the system at all?"
I also have to admit I'm part of this story. My street, my neighbor, and the way people like us treat garbage collectors all shape the world these workers move in every day.
🟥 MY STREET, MY NEIGHBOR, AND THE "BASURERO" THEY AVOIDED
For years, garbage collection on our street was a mess—sometimes literally. One big reason: one of my neighbors.
She hates these guys with a passion. Every time the truck passed, you could see it in her face: disgust, like the collectors were the scum of the earth. Parang sila ang dumi, hindi 'yung basura. She complained when they were noisy, complained when they came late, and complained when they came at all.
Over time, that kind of attitude sends a signal. You are not welcome here. You're just tolerated at best.
Last year, I decided I didn't want to live on that kind of street.
I started small:
- I gave tips to the garbage collectors when they came around.
- I greeted them "Good morning" instead of pretending they were invisible.
- I handed them bread or snacks whenever I could.
My goal was simple: to show them that at least one house on this street actually wants them there, that they are not a nuisance, that they are doing a job we depend on. Every December, we prepared gifts and a little bonus for them.
And I'll be honest again: back then, I was doing it more out of basic kindness and Christmas spirit than any deep understanding.
I still assumed, in the back of my mind, that they were regular city employees.
Akala ko, may benefits sila. Akala ko, may hazard pay at GSIS at kung anu-ano pa. I thought I was just being nice on top of what the system was already giving them.
I was wrong.
This research showed me that for many garbage collectors, those December gifts and small tips are not "extra." They are sometimes the closest thing they get to a bonus, to being treated as human beings who matter.
🟥 THE JOB: HARD, DIRTY, AND DANGEROUS — WITH THE DATA TO PROVE IT
When you stop romanticizing "mahirap ang trabaho nila" and actually read the numbers, it gets uncomfortable fast.
Studies on Filipino garbage collectors show:
- 39.55% suffer from musculoskeletal problems—chronic pain in the back, shoulders, knees, and neck from constant lifting and jumping on and off trucks.
- 21.54% have gastrointestinal problems like ulcers, diarrhea, and stomach pain.
- 12.86% have skin diseases such as rashes and infections.
- Another study found that around 19% have persistent respiratory symptoms like chronic cough and shortness of breath.
In short: almost 4 out of 10 collectors are living with serious body pain, 2 out of 10 with stomach issues, 1 out of 10 with skin problems, and 2 with breathing trouble. That's the baseline, not the worst case.
And they are dealing with:
- Hidden sharps (broken glass, needles, rusty metal) inside sealed bags.
- Medical and sanitary waste mixed into ordinary trash.
- Rotting organic waste full of bacteria, maggots, insects, and vermin.
Now imagine doing that in slippers or thin shoes, bare-handed, on the back of a moving truck.
🟥 THE PAY: ESSENTIAL WORK, NEAR-MINIMUM WAGES
Then you check what they earn.
Based on available salary data:
- An entry-level garbage collector (1–3 years) earns about ₱131,256 a year, or roughly ₱10,900 a month.
- A senior garbage collector (8+ years) earns about ₱198,811 a year, or roughly ₱16,500 a month.
This is for full-time work that damages their bodies and exposes them to disease. It's not far from minimum wage, and it doesn't automatically come with full benefits.
For informal waste pickers—those outside the formal system—things are worse.
A 67-year-old waste picker featured in one story earns about ₱300 a day on good days. If he works 20 days in a month, that's ₱6,000—with no health insurance, no GSIS, no retirement, no hazard pay, nothing to catch him if he gets sick and can't work.
I used to think the people on the truck outside my house had "regular" government compensation behind them. Now I know that many of them do not.
🟥 THE STATUS: THE CONTRACT THAT KEEPS THEM DISPOSABLE
Here's the part I really didn't understand before: legally, a lot of these workers are almost invisible.
In many LGUs, garbage collectors are hired as Job Order (JO) or Contract of Service (COS) workers. That classification sounds like paperwork. It's actually a wall.
As JO/COS, they:
- Do not have a civil service appointment.
- Are explicitly labeled "not government employees."
- Are not covered by Civil Service Law protections.
- Work under short contracts that can simply not be renewed.
So while we see them riding LGU trucks and assume "empleyado 'yan ng city," the law often treats them more like temporary service providers, even if they have been doing the same job for 10 or 15 years.
Regular government employees, on the other hand:
- Have appointments approved by the Civil Service Commission.
- Are compulsorily covered by GSIS (life insurance, disability, retirement).
- Get paid leave, 13th-month pay, performance bonuses, and clearer grievance mechanisms.
The men on the truck in front of my car? Many like them are stuck in that JO/COS limbo.
🟥 PROTECTION ON PAPER, EXPOSURE ON THE GROUND
Our laws actually sound protective.
- The Ecological Solid Waste Management Act says sanitation workers should be given gloves, masks, and safety boots.
- Occupational safety laws say employers must provide PPE for free and train workers on how to handle risks.
But audits of real cities show:
- Hundreds of garbage collectors doing their work with inconsistent or no PPE.
- Some barangay-level collectors with zero protective equipment—no gloves, no masks, no boots.
- City and private hauler workers who have never received formal training on safe garbage collection, despite requirements.
So yes, the law talks about safety. But JO status plus weak enforcement means the people on the ground often see none of it.
🟥 MENTAL HEALTH AND STIGMA: THE WEIGHT WE DON'T SEE
There's also the mental side of this work.
One study found that about 27.4% of informal waste workers show signs of depression. The risk is higher for older workers, those who are already sick, those with unstable income, and those with no savings.
On top of that, they face daily disrespect. People wrinkle their noses. Some neighbors talk about them like they're the problem. Kids learn this attitude from adults. It becomes normal to treat the people who handle our trash as if they are the trash.
When I think of my neighbor—how she looks at garbage collectors like they're not even worth basic courtesy—I see that moment in a very different light now. I used to just be annoyed at her. Now I see how that contempt is part of the environment these workers move through every day.
🟥 THERE ARE BETTER MODELS: PASIG SHOWS IT'S A CHOICE
This is where Pasig City changes the conversation.
Since 2019, Pasig has made a deliberate effort to regularize long-time contractual workers:
- By 2022, they had regularized 2,397 employees, many of whom had been casuals for 10–20 years.
- By late 2025, the city reported over 5,000 employees regularized since 2019. Permanent employees now outnumber casuals and JO workers.
- Street sweepers and other low-paid frontline staff are among those moved into permanent positions, with full benefits and security of tenure.
Pasig still outsources some garbage collection, so it's not a perfect story. But it proves this: the current system is not inevitable. An LGU that wants to can:
- Create new permanent positions.
- Prioritize long-serving JO workers for those slots.
- Give them real appointments and full protection.
That's a policy choice. Which means not doing it is also a choice.
🟥 HOW THIS CHANGED MY PERSPECTIVE
Before this morning, I thought I was already "doing my part" in a small way—greeting the collectors, giving tips, handing out bread, preparing a Christmas envelope every December. I thought I was just adding kindness on top of a stable foundation.
Now I see it differently.
- I can no longer assume they're covered just because they wear a green or orange LGU shirt.
- I understand that many of them are one bad injury away from losing both their job and their only income.
- I see that my street, my neighbor's looks, and my own silence are all part of the environment they walk into every time the truck turns into our road.
This research didn't just give me numbers; it gave me a clearer picture of how little protection stands between these workers and disaster. And it forced me to admit that small acts of kindness are good, but they're not enough.
🟥 A PRAYER AND A PLEA: FOR LAWMAKERS AND FOR US
So here's where I am now.
I'm praying—literally—that our lawmakers will prioritize the Magna Carta or any serious law that protects waste workers:
- That Congress will stop allowing essential workers to hide under JO/COS labels.
- That the Senate will push through legislation that guarantees decent pay, hazard allowances, PPE, medical checkups, and real retirement for people who have spent their lives handling our waste.
- That LGUs will be pushed, or required, to follow models like Pasig's, not just when it's politically convenient but as a matter of justice.
And I'm also praying that more ordinary people will help our waste handlers in ways both small and systemic:
- Greet them. Look them in the eye. Let them know they are welcome on your street, not a nuisance.
- If you can, give water, bread, or a small tip. It doesn't fix the system, but it tells them someone sees them.
- Use your voice with your barangay, city hall, and representatives. Bring up waste workers when people talk about "frontliners" and "essential services."
Because they need our help too—not just with a Christmas envelope or a random loaf of bread, but with a louder demand that the laws and budgets finally match the importance of the work they do.
This all started with a red light, a garbage truck, and two men in front of my car. I can't change what they're paid or how they're classified with a snap of my fingers. But I can refuse to look away. I can write about them. I can keep saying to anyone in power who will listen:
Look at them. They're holding up a part of this country that none of us want to touch. The least we can do is hold up our end.
🟥 Nota Bene: This piece was supposed to be written in Tagalog, as my wife suggested, but when I read through what ended up on the page, I realized I’m not really talking to the garbage collectors themselves. I’m talking to you, to us, and to the lawmakers who decide how their lives will go from here.
My hope is that this doesn’t just become another story that people nod along to and forget, but a kind of written prayer that does not fall on deaf ears—that something moves in Congress and in city halls, that this new-found advocacy turns into concrete protection for our waste handlers, and that more and more of us choose to stand with them instead of looking away.
🟥 SOURCES:
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1wpAeZJN_AvmhuYbuw2j6F8IcOm395jSZJg5C3n3NS-4/edit?usp=sharing
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