Assalamu alaikum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuh.

During my recent visit to Mountain Province, I was incredibly delighted to discover a Halal-friendly restaurant right in the highlands of Sagada. I had gone up to Mountain Province for the same reasons most people do — to chase cooler air, quiet mornings, and the kind of silence you cannot have in Manila. Between the pine trees and the hanging coffins, I was prepared to bring my own meals, the way I often do when traveling to places without a large Muslim community. It has become a habit after years of public service and personal travel: pack something simple, ask ahead, manage expectations.

So, when I sat down at a small restaurant in town and learned that they could adjust for halal guests, I was pleasantly surprised. It was not a five-star gesture. It was simply there — a quiet accommodation in a town known for pine trees and cold mornings, not Middle Eastern spice or Islamic dietary law.

I have spent much of my career around numbers. Budgets, ceilings, allocations — the language of government spending has a way of flattening everything into figures. But that meal reminded me that policy eventually must live somewhere outside the spreadsheet. It has to show up on a plate, prepared by someone who decided a Muslim traveler's comfort was worth the extra thought.

For those unfamiliar with the term, halal is Arabic for “permissible.” Most people think of it as a food rule — meat prepared a certain way, no pork, no alcohol — but that barely scratches the surface. Halal today touches cosmetics, pharmaceuticals, fashion, tourism, and finance, built around cleanliness, ethical sourcing, and fair dealing. That is partly why it attracts non-Muslim consumers too. People trust the label not only for religious reasons but because it signals traceability and hygiene, qualities every consumer values.

I have seen this shift up close during my time at the Department of Budget and Management, where halal came up not as a cultural footnote but as economic strategy. The Department of Trade and Industry has set a target of generating ₱230 billion in halal investments by 2028, alongside plans to create well over a 120,000 jobs tied to the sector. The National Commission on Muslim Filipinos, mandated by law to grow the industry and accredit certifying bodies, has been pushing halal certification beyond Mindanao and into Luzon and the Visayas, slowly building the infrastructure that made that small gesture in Sagada possible.

The Philippines counts close to seven million Muslim citizens by conservative estimate, with some placing the figure closer to eleven percent of our population — a domestic market worth taking seriously on its own. But the larger opportunity sits outward, in trade with Indonesia, Malaysia, and the Gulf states, markets hungry for reliable suppliers who understand halal standards. Millions of our overseas Filipino workers stationed in Muslim-majority countries understand these standards firsthand and represent a built-in bridge for our exports.

Tourism tells a similar story. In one recent year, the country welcomed roughly half a million Muslim visitors, a number the “Halal-Friendly Philippines” campaign hopes to grow by positioning us as a genuine gateway in the region.

This is why I believe the country needs to keep investing in halal, deliberately and without hesitation. It is not a favor extended to a minority. It not only advances inclusion, but is also smart economics. Every halal-certified product opens a door to a market abroad. Every halal-friendly menu tells a Filipino Muslim, or a visiting tourist, that they do not have to choose between exploring their own country and eating properly while they do it.

I think about that restaurant in Sagada often. Nobody there needed a directive from Manila to make that small adjustment. They simply decided it was worth doing. Multiply that decision across enough towns and enough menus, and you get an industry capable of feeding both our economy and our sense of who belongs at the table.

That, to me, is what lies beyond the budget — beyond the ceilings and allocations I have spent my career negotiating. It is the quiet proof that inclusion, when it takes root, does not need permission. It just needs one more restaurant willing to try.

As Citizen Mina — a Maranao woman who still packs a spare meal out of habit, who still notices when a stranger goes out of their way to make her feel welcome, and who still finds herself moved by small, unasked-for kindnesses in unfamiliar towns—government can build the certification systems, set the trade targets, and open the export lanes, but it cannot legislate the warmth I felt in that restaurant in Sagada. That came from a person who simply chose to see me, a Filipino willing to make room at their table without being told to.

If our halal industry is to grow the way I believe it should, it will need policy, yes, but it will also need more of that instinct — ordinary Filipinos deciding, on their own, that everyone deserves a proper meal wherever they roam.