SUKI:  A Psychological Contract

17 July 2025

“Tara Suki, Bili Ka Na!” (Suki, stop and buy), Aling Maring summoned passersby.  Said she, “I wanted to tell people I’d give them a good discount if they became my suki (repeat customer).  And I do. I often made buwena mano lang (break even) for first-time buyers, as I hoped they’d consider buying from my stall next time. I always trusted people and thought they would reciprocate the loyalty that I gave them.

“Over some 30 years that I worked as a fruit vendor, I did have a lot of suki. I knew them all by face, and many by name, enough to do a little small talk every now and then, about their families or hobbies. The pleasantries I exchanged with them usually made my day.

“Two years ago, I learned how naive I was. An incident happened that involved three of my best suki and the trust I placed in them. First was Sgt. Lazaro, a police sergeant from the local station. He always bought two dozen identical mixed fruits in two separate packages.  I guessed maybe one for his wife and the other for his mistress.

“There was also Mr. Gomez, a high-ranking official at City Hall with deep pockets. He loved throwing parties, giving my fruits as parting gifts to his guests.

“Last but not least was Ma’am Cynthia, the rich lady who always came to my stall after Sunday Mass with her big diamond rings. Ironically, for a woman of her stature, she only bought a few pieces of fruits. I mean, I usually don’t judge my suki, but with her money, you’d think she’d be buying boxes.

“These were the three long-term suki that I approached when I got into trouble that finally threw me out of the fruit-selling business. The incident taught me a lesson that suki is only a pretend game. Thank goodness for the money my children give me.  Now I stay home in retirement and watch my favourite Korean drama on TV.

“This trouble happened a couple of years ago as the Christmas season was approaching. Six of us vendors from our side of the market decided to set up stalls by the bangketa (pavement) where most people passed by. “Isn’t this illegal?” someone from our group asked.  Another suggested, “Aling Maring has a suki, Sgt. Lazaro, a policeman.  We can ask him to help us”.  Everyone cheered me on.

“And so, the next time Sgt. Lazaro came over, I asked him about the idea of putting up an extension of our stalls by the bangketa. He motioned me to follow him to a nearby eskenita (alley). “Save me bente (twenty) every day.” In other words, for Php20.00 per stall, he would give us his protection. We thought it was a good deal, so my group readily agreed.

“As soon as we brought part of our paninda (merchandise) to our bangketa, we thought we had hit jackpot. In just a few minutes, more passersby bought from our new location than in an hour in our “hidden” stalls, now manned by relatives. Every day, Sgt Lazaro would “buy” from us, hand some small paper money, and we would hand him back the “change,” our protection money.

“Soon, more vendors wanted to join us, but we told them the new rent was too high, that sales were not enough to cover our costs, and that we were in fact thinking of closing. That dissuaded them. But Sgt. Lazaro was not deceived. When he saw the great improvement in our sales, he started charging us Php50.00 each. It was easy for us to pay for this increase.

“Our bounty continued until the inevitable happened.  Apparently, some people posted on social media about how congested the streets heading to the market had become. This was brought to the attention of the new mayor, and the raid came almost immediately, with Sgt. Lazaro among the raiders.  Our goods were destroyed or confiscated, and we were herded to City Hall.  When I approached Sgt. Lazaro, he pretended he didn’t know me.

“I had invested a large portion of my savings as puhunan (capital) for a huge delivery of expensive fruits, nuts, and other items for Christmas. Totally alarmed by now, I thought of my other suki, Mr. Gomez, the high-ranking government official. I knew he would help me recover my confiscated goods. So, the next day, I went back to City Hall to look for him. I finally found him occupying a small desk in a corner. He said he did not know me, so I reminded him that he bought fruits from me for his parties and his mahjong sessions. He told me to get lost! (I later heard he was arrested for running an illegal gambling house).

By now, I was desperate, so I thought of another suki, Ma’am Cynthia. I had the mobile phone number of her housemaid, as I used to inform her of fresh deliveries. I called the maid asking for Ma’am Cynthia. I didn’t know exactly what tulong (help) I had expected, maybe to borrow money or what. The maid told me Ma’am Cynthia would call me back. When that didn’t happen, I texted and even called again and again, but I didn’t get any reply anymore.

I have learned my lesson. People do not adhere to the rules of suki. I think the word is simply thrown around to get a discount. Or is the suki getting obsolete? Maybe with online stores, you no longer need to smile and be nice, and exchange stories to bond with your suki. With just a few taps on your mobile phone, you can send your payment by GCash or PayMaya. It is so impersonal, all business. I’m really glad that’s behind me".

COMMENTARY

The suki system is a form of diskarte (strategy) used by many vendors, to compensate for the lack of a proper network structure whereby produce is brought to market.  This lack of structure results in inefficiencies, especially with regard to perishable goods, causing spoilages, and thus potentially raising the costs of these goods to unaffordable levels.  Vendors compensate by finding ways to navigate the situation, often involving informal and unconventional methods to entice ready buyers. Through personal connections, Aling Maring, a typical vendor, hoped to leverage these connections for her benefit, and also for the benefit of her buyers.  

Suki basically means repeat custom:  the repeat customer goes to their repeat vendor. Being a suki entails reciprocal loyalties forged through a psychological contract. Like most contractual arrangements, this entails mutual expectations and obligations from both parties. Foremost is the idea of strategic reciprocity, which is embedded in the psychological contract. 

The arrangement has various advantages for both seller and buyer. On the part of the vendor, their suki is the source of their bread-and-butter revenue as it assures them of a minimum sales volume. Even with more limited profit margins per item, there is less risk of spoilage because vendors can plan their deliveries. Also, the more suki a vendor has, the larger the volume ordered, and the lower the unit price. Thus, the need to attract as many suki as possible.  Social scientists tell us that we can recall the personal information of up to 150 acquaintances*.

On the part of the customer, they enjoy the privileges not otherwise given to ordinary buyers. For instance, a common practice is for ordinary customers to ask for tawad, i.e., to haggle over the price. The suki buyer doesn’t need to ask for tawad because they know they will automatically get the best price. Often, they can even buy on credit. They will also be given the best quality of the vendor’s produce, and in many instances, be texted when fresh supplies are delivered.

The practice of haggling is not unique to the Philippines.  What is more particular to Philippine culture is the idea that relationships forged in one area of daily living should spill over into other spheres of activity. In many cultures, these different spheres of activity are clearly demarcated and do not overlap the way they do in this country.  Hence, if one is a loyal customer of a store and exchanges pleasantries with the manager, it does not mean that the relationship extends beyond the confines of the store.

The Japanese wife has a lot of influence within her household, but this influence does not extend to her husband’s workplace. The Filipino wife, on the other hand, does not hesitate to use her husband’s secretary for tasks related to her home or even to her personal affairs because boundaries between work and home are ambiguous. Another example is when Filipinos work in the individualistic West. They often struggle to understand why casual friendships at work, which they may want to further develop after they leave their jobs, are often not reciprocated.

Typically, Aling Maring was not aware of these so-called boundaries amongst different settings.  Instead, over time, her relationship with her suki grew from being transactional to becoming relational, with the supposedly valued qualities of mutual familiarity, gratitude, trust, and loyalty. Aling Maring believed that this created bond gave her social capital, which she was entitled to draw down in times of need. For one reason or another, when this expectation of mutual obligations was not met by the other party, there was a breach of the psychological contract.  It was thus understandable that Aling Maring should feel betrayed.**

It is the Filipino emphasis on personal relationships over tasks, monetary gains, or sometimes even personal ambition that gives us a sense of shared identity.  A two-edged sword, it provides us with support in times of need, but also prevents us from overcoming the difficulties of an impoverished nation. 

Suki relationships based on trust and loyalty can indeed provide short-term "band-aid" benefits, but also they prevent us from developing formal, impersonal network structures for efficiently taking produce from farm to market.  Such a structure could save us as much as 30% of our produce, now currently lost. This failure, in turn, causes shortages in supply, which encourages the formation of an in-group vs an out-group mindset.  Members of the in-group within these relationships are favoured over members of the out-group.  When we carry this idea further, we realise that it breeds corruption, limited accountability, inequality of opportunity, and other similar social ills that the country suffers today.

In short, when efficiency and effectiveness are encouraged through formal structures, there is no longer the need for diskarte and all its concomitant deficiencies.

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*Dunbar’s Number, named after the anthropologist Robin Dunbar, suggests that we can comfortably manage around 150 meaningful relationships.  Beyond this number, it becomes challenging for most humans to maintain those relationships.

** These overlapping areas of activities are carried over to our overlapping sense of space.  Philippine homes are designed with multipurpose rooms, as it is just as easy to eat in the living room or bedroom as it is in the dining room.  Our sense of time is likewise non-linear – we are prone to multi-tasking even in instances when it reduces efficiency. Woe to those with “tunnel vision”, as it reduces their flexibility and adaptability toward the complexities of daily community life.