In the Philippines, many Chinese small business owners have recently shared the same sentiment—the streets are still bustling with traffic, but the familiar business atmosphere has faded.
In the empty shops, the owner stands behind the counter, watching the rolling door slowly descend, the tremor of metal friction echoing in the cramped space, like the sigh of rocks as the tide recedes—cold and real.
Not long ago, POGO (offshore gaming) was almost the "magic needle" stabilizing the Chinese economy in the Philippines. It brought hundreds of thousands of job opportunities and indirectly supported countless restaurants, convenience stores, logistics companies, rental agencies, and various supporting businesses. It was an era when customers came to the door and business owners hardly worried about orders.
However, by the end of 2024, the Philippine government issued an order to completely cancel POGO licenses, resulting in the deportation of a large number of Chinese practitioners. The industry collapsed, and surrounding businesses also fell into a cold winter. The once common saying, "Today is overwhelmingly busy," has now turned into "The general environment is bad, and it is increasingly difficult to do business."
Business may be slow, but that doesn't mean there are no options. The resilience of enduring hardship and adapting to changes quickly allowed many Chinese merchants to swiftly adjust their directions.
Some returned to wholesale and retail, importing goods from China, selling small commodities and clothing, relying on old customers and reputation to maintain operations; some started family catering and snack processing, combining local flavors with Chinese tastes, selling through social media to local and overseas Chinese communities; others seized the market for intermediary services such as visa processing, business registration, and case translation, because as long as there are people, there is a demand for such services.
In Manila's Binondo and Divisoria, one can still see the perseverance of Chinese shops—small storefronts, neatly arranged shelves, fair prices, and the constant flow of customers like the pulse of the community.
Challenges remain. The Philippines' bureaucratic procedures are cumbersome, hidden fees and approval delays are headaches; tax compliance risks are high, many choose to "affiliate" with local companies, but disputes can be costly.
Labor is also a pain point. The unreliability of Filipino employees is almost a public joke among the Chinese community—being late, taking leaves, disappearing suddenly, sometimes more unpredictable than policy risks.
Despite this, Chinese merchants still hold advantages: years of accumulated community networks and supply chains remain stable; small-scale operations are flexible and easy to adjust; coupled with a habit of meticulous budgeting, even meager profits can sustain long-term operations.
But one fact is unavoidable—the "golden dream" of making easy money has ended.
After the tide recedes, what remains are not the biggest or strongest merchants, but those who know how to bend down and get close to the ground.
The significance of small businesses is not about getting rich overnight, but about rooting deeply into the soil—drawing nutrients from policy gaps, extending feelers along cultural veins, and finding a foothold in the community network.
In the post-POGO era, those who remain are the ones who are down-to-earth and patiently cultivate.
