Fifteen years that the people here are suffering from this
For fifteen years, a half-built bridge in Daraga, Albay has stood as quiet testimony to the distance between government intention and government action. Last Monday, DPWH Secretary Vince Dizon arrived at the Kilicao-Binitayan Bridge and found not just an unfinished structure, but a community that had long since stopped expecting it to be completed. His anger, and his subsequent commitment to finish the work within two to three months, places this single stalled span within a larger national reckoning — one in which President Marcos has directed his administration to confront the accumulated weight of abandoned infrastructure promises.
- A bridge that has been under active construction for fifteen years remains unfinished, forcing residents of Daraga to navigate daily life around an incomplete crossing that was supposed to connect their community.
- Secretary Dizon arrived at the site visibly furious — not only at the stalled project itself, but at the local DPWH officials who had stayed silent about it during his visit to the same town just months earlier.
- The delay has become a living symbol of institutional failure: long enough that children born when construction began are now old enough to drive the detours their parents were forced to take.
- Dizon ordered an immediate structural integrity assessment of existing work and committed to releasing funds, setting a two-to-three month completion deadline rather than another open-ended promise.
- The bridge has been folded into President Marcos's nationwide directive to clear stalled infrastructure projects, transforming a local embarrassment into a test of whether that political will is genuine.
A bridge in Daraga, Albay has been half-built for fifteen years — not delayed by planning or review, but simply abandoned mid-construction, leaving residents to find workarounds while the incomplete span sat untouched. That changed last Monday when DPWH Secretary Vince Dizon came to see it for himself.
What he found moved him to something close to fury. Standing before the stalled Kilicao-Binitayan Bridge, he said plainly that fifteen years of this was a reason people lose faith in government. The visit had been arranged by Albay Governor Noel Rosal, but what sharpened Dizon's anger was learning that local DPWH officials had said nothing about the bridge during his earlier visit to the same town in February — when he had come to inspect another unfinished project nearby.
His response was immediate. He committed to allocating funds, ordered the district engineer to begin with a structural integrity check of what had already been built, and set a deadline of two to three months. Not another decade. Months.
The push carries weight from above. President Marcos has directed his administration to clear the national backlog of stalled infrastructure, and Dizon framed the bridge as part of that broader reckoning. The Kilicao-Binitayan Bridge is not a prestige project — it is a basic connector between two parts of a town. That it has remained unfinished long enough for children born at its groundbreaking to now be of driving age makes it a particularly stark measure of bureaucratic inertia.
The clock has restarted. Whether the two-to-three month timeline holds will be an early answer to whether this administration's infrastructure push is a genuine shift or simply another promise made at a site visit.
A bridge in Daraga, Albay has been sitting half-finished for fifteen years. Not decades of planning or environmental review. Fifteen years of actual construction, abandoned mid-work, leaving the people who live there stranded on the wrong side of an incomplete span.
The Kilicao-Binitayan Bridge became impossible to ignore last Monday when Department of Public Works and Highways Secretary Vince Dizon showed up to see it for himself. What he found—or rather, what he didn't find—moved him to something close to fury. "Fifteen years na ganito ito?" he said, standing there looking at the stalled project. "Can you imagine, 15 years that the people here are suffering from this." He didn't soften the language. He called it what it was: a reason people lose faith in government.
The visit came at the invitation of Albay Governor Noel Rosal, who had apparently decided the bridge needed higher-level attention. Dizon had been in the same town in February, inspecting another unfinished project—the Malabog Flyover—and local DPWH officials had said nothing about the bridge then. That silence seemed to anger him as much as the bridge itself. Here was a project that had consumed fifteen years and still wasn't done, and the people responsible for it hadn't even mentioned it when their boss came to town.
Dizon's response was immediate and concrete. He committed to allocating the necessary funds to actually finish the work. He ordered the district engineer to begin the process of completion, starting with a structural integrity check of what had been built so far. He set a timeline: two to three months. Not years. Not another decade of waiting. Months.
The urgency came from above. President Marcos had instructed his administration to clear out the backlog of stalled infrastructure projects across the country, and Dizon framed his commitment to the bridge as part of that broader push. The Kilicao-Binitayan Bridge was no longer just a local problem. It had become a test case for whether the government could actually move.
What makes the bridge notable—beyond the obvious absurdity of a fifteen-year construction timeline—is what it represents. It's not a monument or a prestige project. It's a basic piece of infrastructure that connects two parts of a town. For fifteen years, the people living there have had to find workarounds, detours, alternative routes. Fifteen years is long enough for children born when the project started to be old enough to drive. It's long enough for people to stop expecting it to be finished at all.
Dizon seemed to understand that the bridge had become a symbol of something larger: the gap between what government promises and what it delivers, the way bureaucratic inertia can calcify around a single project until it becomes invisible to the people who are supposed to be managing it. "This is one of the reasons why people are mad at their government," he said. He wasn't wrong. The bridge is a fifteen-year-long answer to the question of why citizens lose patience with institutions.
Now the clock has restarted. Two to three months is the new deadline. Whether that timeline holds will say something about whether the administration's push to clear stalled projects is real or just another promise made at a site visit.
Citas Notables
Fifteen years that the people here are suffering from this. This is one of the reasons why people are mad at their government.— DPWH Secretary Vince Dizon
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does a bridge take fifteen years to build? Is there something structurally complex about this one?
The source doesn't say. It just says it's been under construction that long. That's almost the point—we don't know why it stalled. That's part of what made Dizon so angry. Nobody seemed to be managing it.
So the DPWH Secretary didn't know about it until the governor invited him to see it?
He'd been in the same town two months earlier looking at another unfinished project. The local officials never mentioned the bridge. That's what really set him off—not just that it was unfinished, but that it had become so invisible that people stopped reporting it up the chain.
What does a fifteen-year delay actually cost the people living there?
The source doesn't quantify it. But think about it: detours, longer commutes, economic isolation. If you're on one side of an incomplete bridge, you're cut off. For fifteen years. That's not abstract.
Is two to three months realistic?
The source doesn't say. Dizon ordered a structural integrity check first, which suggests they don't even know what condition the existing work is in. That's a concerning sign. But he's the Secretary and the President wants stalled projects finished, so there's real pressure now.
Why mention Guinness World Records in the headline?
Because it's darkly funny. A bridge that's been under construction longer than almost anything else. It's the kind of absurdity that makes people cynical about government. Dizon understood that—he wasn't just frustrated about the bridge. He was frustrated that it had become a symbol of why people don't trust institutions.