Suicide and the blame game

The media frenzy, the blame game, the breast-beating, the outpouring of sympathy and the if-onlys that followed turned out to be more surreal than the suicide itself.

Everybody and everybody had something to say about 12-year-old Marianette Amper of Davao City, about her diary, her family’s poverty, her dreams and dashed hopes. And how she ended it all with a rope. So young and so despairing.

Someone’s got to take the blame--was the undying refrain, the knee-jerk reaction of many. And why not. Manette’s lot in life was indeed something for the yagit telenovelas and bleeding-heart movies that truly resonate with many Filipinos, both poor and not so poor.

But suicide, as psychotherapists would tell us, is not as simple as cause and effect or this equals that. Not everyone who goes through what Manette had gone through, not everyone whose life is more difficult that hers would want to end his or her life.

But why--is the question most people ask of the most unlikely suicides. While in the case of Manette, the most likely remark most people would say was, but why not. Or, but of course. She was poor, though not the poorest. But it is not as simple as that.



There was this pop song that became a hit among the young more than a decade ago, and it was about suicide being painless. ``Suicide is painless,’’ it says, ``it brings on many changes.’’ When I quoted this line some years ago (after the death of a son of a senator) I was surprised to get a barrage of emails from readers who supplied the rest of the lyrics.

In the case of Manette, her passing brought on many reactions and actions that could translate into meaningful changes. I hope there are no more Manettes out there who would resort to suicide to bring on changes. A psychotherapist I know well who will be probing deeper into this case told me that “there are many factors that combine and interact and we have to know how they work together. Then we can find ways to prevent it and also prevent other children from imitating.”

The book ``Survivors of Suicide’’ by Rita Robinson, an award-winning journalist specializing in health and psychology, is a good book on the subject. Robinson’s book draws from the experiences of the survivors and the bereaved as well as those of the scientific experts, therapists and law enforcers. The first chapters describe the impact, shock, grief and guilt of the surviving next of kin.

Robinson lists 17 suicide myths, the wrong beliefs about suicide. Some of them are: that people who threaten to kill themselves don’t really mean it, that there is no forewarning, that one shouldn’t confront the person who is suicidal, that those who commit suicide are insane, that suicidal people want nothing more than to die, that it runs in families, that religious people are less likely to commit suicide.

Who commits suicide? How does clinical depression lead to suicide, how does the brain react to depression? Getting help is very important.

The blame game is tackled too. It is tough for those who are mentioned in suicide notes, especially if they are young. Although it is natural to blame someone, it is important for survivors not to place or accept blame.

The book gives historical perspectives and discusses ancient attitudes, the attempts to unlock the mystery of suicide and the role of societies in suicide. Perspectives from the great religious traditions are examined as well. And finally, how to prevent suicides, the role of guns, warning signs, etc.

But the most interesting, the stuff that hold the reader (as Robinson, the journalist, would know) are the true-to-life cases, the testimonies of those who’ve had to go through the tragedy and, in the case of suicidals, the temptation. Robinson also offers media guidelines and tackles teen suicide.

Health institutions like the Centers for Disease Control have come up with guidelines for schools. Here are some. It is important to stress that suicide is the result of a dysfunctional behavior by a troubled personality. Reduce the identification with the actions of the deceased, and reaffirm that it was the fault (decision) of the person who committed suicide and not someone else. And one very important thing—don’t’ glorify the death or prolong praises and tributes for the diseased. Teenagers could get ideas, you know.

Here are media guidelines from CDC: Reporting should be concise and factual. Excessive or sensational reporting can lead to contagion. (Think of the many suicidal Filipinos who keep using the giant billboards as their launching pad.) Reporting technical aspects of the suicide is not necessary. Suicide should not be presented as an effective coping strategy. Suicide should not be glorified. Expressions of grief such as public eulogies and public memorials should be minimized.

Robinson notes that the World Health Organization reported that in the last 45 years, the suicide rate has increased 60 percent worldwide. Suicide is now among the three leading causes of death of people aged 15 to 44.

The song ``Vincent’’ is about art genius Vincent van Gogh’s choice to cut short his own stint in this world. It begins with ``Starry, starry night, paint your palette blue and gray,’’ and ends with ``Vincent this world is not meant for those as beautiful as you.’’

It is a masterpiece of eulogy set to music, like Van Gogh’s paintings of sunflowers and starry nights. But I disagree with its fuga mundi (flight from the world) theme at the end.

Sure, there are lessons to be learned. But let’s not make Manette a hero or martyr-saint. She was a precious 12-year-old kid going through a dark night.

Rock and refuge: NPC then

It was our rock and refuge. It was our sanctuary during the dying days of martial rule. That was the National Press Club for us in the early 1980s. Many of us were greenhorns in journalism then, upstart freelancers from the so-called mosquito press (okay, alternative, and sometimes underground--and underwater if you were the “Ichthys” type) who made bold forays into the mainstream media and were continually at odds with the Marcos military. Hunted, surveilled, “invited”, manacled and thrown into jail.

Standing tall by the banks of the Pasig River was the NPC which was founded and built by the generation of journalists before ours, a good number of whom bore the brunt of military fury when the reign of terror began in 1972. The founders did not build the NPC in the 1950s for the purpose that served us in the 1980s. It was supposed to be a club, a watering hole for the old boys who wanted to unwind after a day’s work at the editorial office or on the beat. Not long after, the culturati and the literati also made it their haunt.

Vicente Manasala’s mural on lawanit in the dining hall gave it ambience. The mural (gone and sold I don’t know where) withstood the smoke, grime and slime from overbearing journalists who thought the masterpiece was their birthright.



But when darkness descended on the media in 1972 and caught many of them off guard, the NPC began to get transformed from a happy-hour place into a fortress. It was no longer just a watering hole but also a gathering hall for those who valued press freedom.

In the 1980s, it was our upstart generation’s turn to flock to the place and turn it into our refuge and sanctuary. The Plaridel Hall (named after hero Marcelo H. del Pilar) on the third floor was a favorite venue, not just of journalists, but also of those from other sectors (labor, church, students, urban poor, civil society) who wanted to say something loud and subversive.

I have kept two embroidered NPC patches with the words “Don’t shoot journalists.” That was when journalists were considered endangered species. (We are again endangered now). We wore them on our sleeves, lapels and breast pockets. I wanted to wear them again recently but the year on them would make me look dated indeed.

But what other activities, aside from forums and discussions, did journalists plot and hatch at the NPC during those martial law days?

We did books! And I have copies of those books. We did “Press Freedom Under Siege” Volume 1 (1984) and Volume 2 (1985). It was the Women Writers in Media Now (Women) that poured a lot into these books. I remember staying late up to NPC’s closing time with Jo-Ann Q. Maglipon and Noree A. Briscoe so we could finish the book on time. We called ourselves the NPC’s Committee to Protect Writers’ Rights (writers’ warts, we told ourselves). Bogie Tence-Ruiz did the art work on the covers—a typewriter with barbed wire for keys for the first volume and a mock-up of a censored manuscript of a human rights story for the second volume.

We thought we had it all done well but when the finished product came out, we saw that the spelling of the word siege on the book spine was “siege”. That was a most important word and it was misspelled! It became a collector’s item.

We thought one volume would be enough but when the repression continued we had to come out with another volume. NPC president Antonio Ma. Nieva and We Forum (later Malaya) publisher and editor Jose Burgos had just emerged from the military stockade.

The articles (essays, investigative stories, column pieces) in the two volumes were those that got journalists into trouble with the powers-that-be plus pieces from great thinkers and doers who understood the role of the press. Military interrogation transcripts (as recalled) were also included.

There was another book that emerged from the NPC. It contained the proceedings of one of the no-holds-barred discussion on press censorship. I have it in my bookshelf but I couldn’t find it fast enough for now. A slew of books, theses and doctoral dissertations (I know one by an American journalist) on press freedom and how Filipino journalists fared and fought came out of this dreadful area. It was indeed a time of grit of grace.

Now a great furor continues to swirl around the National Press Club because of its officers’ decision to edit and censor its newly commissioned mural on press freedom without the knowledge and permission of the Neo-Angono artists that did it. It was an Inquirer banner story that shocked us all.

I don’t know when exactly and how NPC’s transmogrification into what it is now took place. I just know that the last time I was there, to borrow Conrad de Quiros’ recollection, was in the past century. That would be more than seven, 10 years ago. It must have been around that time that that my membership, and the membership of my women colleagues in media, ended.

It is not that we had outgrown the NPC. The NPC was just no longer what it used to be. We had moved on and there were other newer, more fearless media groups that suited our tempers and temperament.
The fire had not died. We had not changed. The NPC that our fearless, upstart generation knew had changed.

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If you need vegetable seeds, go to the Bureau of Plants in San Andres, Manila (near the fruit market). Plenty and cheap. You could get a free illustrated book on vegetable gardening in Filipino by agriculture experts if you could prove you’re serious about food production and food security for the poor.

‘Dies irae, dies illa’

I remember our Benedictine school days when Nov. 1 and 2 were marked as special liturgical days. As college boarders (synonymous with brats), we would listen to the nuns singing the Latin “Dies irae, dies illa” at Mass on All Souls’ Day even when English was already the liturgical language of the day.

It was very neo-monastic and I would picture the square-ish Gregorian notes swimming in space while I tried to keep my thoughts from wandering. The organ roared and the voices soared, shaking the rafters of the neo-Romanesque, Germanic chapel which, I must say, is the only one of its kind in this country.

Yes, Gregorian was part of our music appreciation class (part of our expansive Liberal Arts education!) and we were taught how to read those funny notes on four lines and sing them right with the mouth correctly shaped. There was no beat or time, just rhyme and round-ish strokes in the air from the conductor. One was supposed to go with the swelling and the receding of the waves, the ebb and the flow of the sound of the spirit.

It takes time and hindsight for one to get to appreciate all these. Today I can still sing some of the lines from the “Dies irae,” particularly the soaring “Lacrimosa dies illa, qua resurget ex favilla…” toward the end. (It translates as, um, “Full of tears and full of dread, is the day that wakes the dead.”) It is as lachrymose as Mozart’s “Lacrimosa” and “Rex Tremendae” are grand and tremendous.

Today, I can appreciate Gregorian going pop, with “pop-monks” in red velvet robes gregorianizing even the most current songs. Try listening to “Heaven Can Wait.” I must concede that Gregorian sounds best with male voices. I have yet to be convinced that female voices could sound as good.

As we celebrate All Saints and All Souls, our thoughts turn to our dear departed even as our view of the afterlife has changed somewhat over the years. Thank God, the Catholic Church has erased limbo from the landscape of the afterlife. But there is still heaven and hell and purgatory. You either believe or you don’t.

Recently I had lunch with a known literary figure and his wife and as we discussed the disgusting political circus, the corruption, the lies and the betrayals, he said something like, “I don’t know what the afterlife would be like, but one thing is certain, each of us will be judged.”

“Dies irae,” with its arresting tone and somewhat terrifying but hopeful message, will certainly remain a liturgical musical classic. (I think it was sung at Princess Diana’s funeral.) There are many translations of the 18-stanza Latin original.

“Dies irae, dies illa, Solvet saeclum in familla, Teste David cum Sibylla….” [“That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth will pass away, Both David and Sybil say…”] The theme was derived from the prophet Zephaniah’s words which should strike fear in the hearts of the corrupt leaders of this land. Why, even last Monday’s “barangay” [village] election, which is supposed to be closest to home and our everyday lives, was not entirely cheating-free.

Zephaniah’s biblical wrath is for those who remain incorrigible: “Jerusalem is doomed, that corrupt, rebellious city that oppresses its own people. It has not listened to the Lord or accepted his discipline. It has not put its trust in the Lord or asked for his help. Its officials are like roaring lions, its judges are like hungry wolves, too greedy to leave a bone until morning. The prophets are irresponsible and treacherous, the priests defile what is sacred, and twist the law of God to their own advantage. But the Lord is still in the city…”

Oh, but he ends with a song of joy. And I can’t help but think literally of the millions of Filipino workers toiling abroad. “I will bring your scattered people home, I will make you famous throughout the world and make you prosperous once again.”

That should bring tears to our eyes. But as to striking fear in our hearts, this much-admired translation of “Dies irae” by Dr. W.J. Jones should do the job. Nature is very much a part of the scenario, so defilers of the environment, hearken and heed.

“Day of wrath and doom impending,/ David’s word and Sibyl’s blending!/ Heaven and earth in ashes ending!

“Oh, what fear man’s bosom rendeth,/ When from heaven the judge descendeth,/ On whose sentence all dependeth!...

“Death is struck, and nature quaking,/ All creation is awaking,/ To its judge an answer making.

“Lo! The book exactly worded,/ Wherein all hath been recorded,/ Thence shall judgment be awarded.

“When the Judge His seat attaineth,/ And each hidden dead arraingneth,/ Nothing unavenged remaineth…

“Righteous judge! For sin’s pollution,/ Grant Thy gift of absolution,/ Ere that day of retribution….”

On the lighter side, All Saints and All Souls will remain among the Filipinos’ favorite feasts. Only Filipinos can celebrate these feasts with so much fun and laughter. Until the West introduced the grossly macabre into our feasting, these feasts were religious and ethnic in nature, solemn but family-oriented and fun too.

As we celebrate these days, let us remember not just the special human beings in our lives who have gone ahead of us. Let us also remember the non-humans, the other creatures that have enriched our lives and this planet. We are all part of a web, of a cycle of life.

A glorious All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day.

Sumilao redux

On a clear day in Sumilao, Bukidnon, one could see Mount Kitanglad standing tall in the distance. Nestled between Mount Sayawan and Mount Palaopao, Sumilao is a valley and home to the Higaonon, an indigenous cultural community that lived there before the 1930s when settlers from distant places began to look upon Mindanao and the new frontier.

The Higaonon believed that Magbabaya the Almighty, gave this balaang yuta (sacred land) to their forefathers and foremothers. Because of the cool weather and the abundance of pine trees, the people described the place as “pine-tree-hon”.

The Higaonon’s ancestral land measured 243.8 hectares and served as their seat of government. Here, the Higaonon’s tribal council led by Apo Manuagay and Apo Mangganiahon ruled and led through the traditional paghusay and pamuhat.

In the 1930s, the Higaonons were forcibly evicted from the land which went from one landed non-Higaonon family to another. In the 1970s the ancestral land was divided between two landowners, the Carloses (99.8 ha.) and the Quisumbings (144 ha.). (If I remember right the dying Carlos patriarch had let go of his share in favor of the farmers.) The Quisumbings eventually leased the land to Del Monte Philippines for 10 years. The Higaonons became farm workers in the land they once owned.



And then the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Law of 1988 came to be, covering the 144 ha. which was for distribution to 137 Mapadayonong Panaghiusa sa mga Lumad Alang sa Damlag (Mapalad) farmers who were of Higaonon ancestry. A certificate of Land Ownership Award (CLOA) was issued, making the Mapalad farmers owners of the 144 hectares. But this was not to be.

To avoid land reform, the Quisumbings that had possession of the land planned to convert it into an agro-industrial estate and educational complex, park and tourism enclave. The Department of Agrarian Reform (DAR) put its foot down but Ruben Torres, then executive secretary of then Pres. Ramos, overturned the decision and approved the land’s conversion.

Things came to a head at this juncture. Much had been written, blood had been shed, a lot of intervention had been made. The farmers’ long and life-threatening hunger strike in front of the DAR office sparked a lot of interest and sympathy for them. Pres. Ramos issued a “win-win solution” which would allot 100 has. for the farmers and 44 has. for the Quisumbings.

Sadly, in 1999 the Supreme Court ruled in favor of the Quisumbings. Ramos’ win-win solution was thrown out because of technicalities and the farmers were reduced to mere “recommendee farmer beneficiaries”, meaning they have no real interest over the land. No real interest over the land?

Well, after many years, the 144-ha. land has not been converted into what its supposed owners had planned, it has been sold to the Cojuangco-owned San Miguel Foods Inc.

This is how things looked recently: The Mapalad-Sumilao farmers and the San Vicente landless Farmers Association have filed a Petition for the Cancellation of the Conversion Order against the Quisumbings and/or SMFI before the DAR. The farmers argued that more than five years had passed since the conversion order but no development work had been done on the land. They further argued that converting the place into a hog farm would violate the conditions in the conversion order.

Last September the Higaonon began a campaign to reclaim the land with a pananghid ritual. They sought the help of church leaders even while military and police forces descended on their area and raided their multi-purpose center. It’s back to square one.

Last October 2, the Office of the President dismissed the farmers’ appeal.

This chronicle of events is definitely from the claimants’ point of view. I had written about this case a number of times over the years and I am not afraid to say that I am biased in the farmers’ favor.

This is not the end of the farmers’ struggle. A “Walk for Sumilao, Walk for Justice” is underway. It’s a long road ahead.

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A reader writes to express her disgust by the news coverage of last week’s Glorietta mall explosion that killed 11 and injured more than 100. I agree with her views. I have myself been outraged at the way on-the-spot broadcast news coverage and emergency room journalism are conducted by insensitive journalists.

“Writing you is my way to vent my disappointment over some broadcast journalists on the way they gather ‘news’ Please bear with me.

“In the aftermath of the Glorietta explosion, one radio report came from the field and all the guy had to say was: ‘Halos hindi makapagsalita ang ina ni Maureen sa sinapit ng kanyang anak. Binibigyan na siya ng tubig...’ Then, he popped the question to a relative (I suppose): ‘Ano ho ang nararamdaman ninyo....’

“I mean, can't this guy be a little less idiotic?! I am outraged by the lack of respect people like him in media show to victims and survivors of tragedy. They who rave and rant about censorship, press freedom etc. are so insensitive as to make a spectacle out of people's inexplicable grief! What about the freedom to privacy? For some members of the media, everything and everyone is fair game, so long as they could fill the airwaves, and scream their headlines.

“Pardon my ranting. I should stop here before I begin to sound like them.”

World Poverty Day is our day

We who are not on the extreme side of the economic divide, we who are fortunate to have a little more than the have-nots, but who have so much less than those who talk six to eight zeros in board rooms and golf courses, have no reason to feel that there is nothing important or impactful for us to do.

We are many, in fact, we are the majority, and we have the power. And I do not mean only on election day. If only we could bring forth that power. If only we knew how.

Yesterday was the United Nation’s official World Poverty Day. It was not a day to be celebrated, but rather, to be observed. It was a day to remind the world that a third of the human citizens of this planet—the “have-nots”—could be dying because of hunger, disease and disasters at this very moment because of the neglect, greed and ignorance of the few “haves” who have too much in their hands and those who have the power, might and numbers to change the order of things but don’t.

For the two billion people who live on less than $2 (or about P90) a day, every day is poverty day. Half of them live on less than $1 a day. The UN’s official day—they’ve never heard of it, for them it doesn’t matter when it is.

Seven years ago, in 2000, 189 nations committed themselves to cut that grim figure in half. Four years later in 2004, the figures still looked grim, swinging from hope to despair to hope.



More than 100 million children were still out of school. Each year, about 10 million children die before their fifth birthday. Some 40 million people are living with HIV and AIDS of which five million die each year.

UN figures remain grim. Every day, about 25,000 people die of hunger or hunger-related causes. This means one human being every three and a half seconds, with children being the most likely to perish.

Is there not enough food to go around? Oh, but there is enough food to feed the teeming millions. The problem is that there are millions who are trapped or held hostage by poverty and can’t get to where the food is because they have no money, they have no work, they can’t go anywhere. And when they are further weakened, they become even poorer, sicker and less likely to find work and get to where the food is. They can’t even grow the food the must eat.

Without intervention from outside, they are trapped in a spiral that goes further down. This spiral has to be broken. Doing this is not easy, it is not going to be broken by simply pumping aid money or building infrastructure. Development aid without regard for the human factor will eventually fizzle out.

There are many ways of dealing with the poverty spiral or breaking it softly, so to speak. Development workers would often speak about “food for work” programs that would enable jobless adults to get up slowly and build for themselves the infrastructure that would help them get out of the mire. And for children, there is the “food for education” where children are fed while they are in school.

Of what use is a school and a good curriculum (and broadband networks) if the students have addled brains because they are malnourished? They wouldn’t be able to get to the school house because they suffer from vitamin and mineral deficiency, their lips and gums are sore, their bodies are ravaged by infection. Etc., etc.

One small step at a time. A global problem could find some local solutions that means the difference from here to there. And the poor themselves, if they are not yet so crippled by disease and hunger, could do a lot for themselves, with a little help, of course.

The theme for the 20th International Day for the Eradication of Poverty (that’s the official name) is “People Living in Poverty as Agents of Change.” This suggests a recognition of the poor people’s role in their own emancipation.

There are as many stories on this as there as many poor families. I have seen stories unfold happen around me. I have seen failures and successes. I have seen crossovers from despair to hope.

It is difficult for a journalist to remain on the fringes. I have always needed to savor what it is like, to be there, to sometimes put in something where my mouth is. But one must forget that something will ever come back. Oh, but something does, but not in the way we might expect.

And then, one must remember that local efforts are not everything. On the occasion of World Poverty Day, Jubilee South (a global network of social movements including those from the Philippines) has issued a reminder that one of the biggest challenges for the global debt movement today is to correct the perception that the debt problem has largely been solved by the debt relief programs offered by lenders in recent years.
“The majority of the peoples of the South continue to suffer from the injustice and staggering burden of debt. It is a burden not only because of the huge amounts of debt payments in the face of poverty and deprivation. It is unjust not only because our people did not benefit from much of the debts they are forced to pay. The debt is also used as instrument to ensure that our economies generate profits for global corporations and meet the requirements of global markets instead of providing for our needs.

“We continue to struggle for freedom from debt. We struggle not only to wipe out the outstanding debt claim

from our countries but to transform the structures, the institutions, and the relations of power that has led to the accumulation of unjust and illegitimate debt.”

Poverty has a human face, a name, a voice that we know very well. We need not journey far. We who are un-poor and un-wealthy can do a lot.

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‘Go repair my house’

“Moreover they should respect all creatures, animate and inanimate, which bear the imprint of the Most High, and they should strive to move from the temptation of exploiting creation, to the Franciscan concept of universal kinship.” – from the Rule of Saint Francis

This column piece should have come out last week, when the feast of St. Francis, patron of the environment, was celebrated. But he could be everybody’s every-day saint and his teachings remain as relevant as when he walked this earth some 12 centuries ago.

St. Francis is often associated with sweet images of flowers, birds, trees and animals. Last week, pets in their furriest and scaliest glory were again paraded on the streets by their Filipino humans to proclaim the saint’s love for God’s creatures.

Many sang paeans to Brother Sun and Sister Moon, to peace and kinship, to earth’s beauty and everything that dwells therein. As if all these come naturally these days.

No, they no longer do. There is now a price to pay to enjoy a smog-free landscape, the good smell of moist earth, the clean wind on one’s face, safe water to drink, natural unadulterated food, the virgin wilderness, hillsides that don’t threaten to cascade on one’s home.



If St. Francis were walking on Philippine soil today, what would he find? Would he be disappointed? Would he feel hopeful?

He would probably get mired in a mudslide, have a coughing fit upon beholding the smog hovering over Metro Manila, admonish someone who nonchalantly throws a fastfood styrofoam pack into the gutter, be shocked at the state of destitution in cities and hamlets, not find the dignity in Lady Poverty whom he had embraced in his time. He could even take a bullet. Like anti-mining activist Armin Marin of Sibuyan Island.

But he would gladly attend the launch of a Greenpeace report that exposes the close ties of multinational producers of genetically modified organism (GMO) products and government regulatory agencies, making the credibility of the Philippine GMO regulatory system questionable.

Philippine civilization would get a dismal grade in the saint’s book. For St. Francis is not the cartoon saint that he is often portrayed to be, he was a serious peace advocate and lover of creation.

Long before so-called creation spirituality became in vogue among theologians, Saint Francis, like his female Benedictine counterpart from another age, saint and mystic Hildegard of Bingen, was already into it.

Today’s scholars of Franciscanism have had to get past the Hollywood fluff and comic-book portrayal of the saint to get at the meat of his life’s message.

Franciscan of the Third Order Charles G. Spencer says: “If we were to visit St. Francis’ Basilica and deface a fresco, the world would quickly know, and we’d be chastised. However, for the corporate culture to purge endangered species, develop biological polluting genetic mutants, bio-load toxic metals, acid, dioxin and other persistent chlorinated compounds and hormone disrupters into our environment, spread toxic waste sewage sludge and pesticides over pure and fertile ground, incinerate waste without regard for the chemical complexities of the waste stream or resultant emissions, cause untold animal suffering, etc., etc., we are told is the price for progress.”

That St. Francis would move small worms to the side of the path to get them out of harm’s way has been historically recorded. That neighbourly act was not remarkable during his time, but now, it is, considering how alienated people are from their earth-y neighbors.

St. Francis need not point out that the state of Philippine environment is far from pretty. The air and water have increasingly become polluted, marine and forest biodiversity are under threat, the forest cover is decreasing at an alarming rate, there is subsidence in cities. And with global warming upon Planet Earth, the Philippine environment will soon be among the gravely endangered. Unless.

St. Francis was a lover of children and he would not like to see so many kids left starving and roaming the streets. He would balk at the yawning gap between the rich and the poor, with the latter often blamed for so many societal and environmental ills—crime, garbage, ugliness. What about the owners of the millions of vehicles that release toxic emissions into the air?

No less than an environment secretary himself said that about 70 percent of air pollution comes from emissions by 5 million vehicles around the country, contributing to the country’s “dubious distinction” of having the second most polluted air in terms of suspended particulates among Asean countries.

Solid waste remains a problem that contributes to land, air and water pollution. Metro Manila alone produces 6,169 tons of garbage daily.

The 19 million hectares of forest cover in 1920 has been reduced to less than half. Logging and populations that invade upland areas are the main culprits. The Philippines is said to have the lowest forest cover among Asean countries. Mangroves are disappearing in coastal areas. Philippine wildlife’s habitat loss is cause for concern. St. Francis would be dismayed that the winged and crawling creatures are losing their homes.
But St. Francis would be happy to see that local governments and communities, the indigenous communities especially, are taking part in the restoration of the environment.

Some 730 years ago in San Damiano in Italy, St. Francis heard the crucified Jesus speak to: “Go, repair my house, which you can see is falling completely to ruin.” St. Francis’ own dying words ring true anew in this age: “Let us begin, for up until now we have done nothing.”

Apo Reef now a ‘no-take zone’

Today is the feast of Saint Francis of Assisi, patron saint of the environment and there is great news for Apo Reef, the world’s second largest and known as the jewel and pride of Mindoro. The reef is second in size to Australia’s Great Barrier Reef.

Oct. 2 marked the total ban on fishing in Apo Reef. This is to ensure that the reef and the residents who live in the area could recover from the effects of overfishing and exploitation for nearly 30 years. No less than the World Wildlife Fund made this announcement.

This decision was not reached overnight. Negotiations went on for years. And now Apo Reef will be open only for tourism. Well, the question now is, where will the fishermen who depend on Apo Reef for their livelihood go next?

According to WWF, one in 10 fishermen is opposed to the park’s closure but the local government is installing alternative ways. WWF says that giant fish aggregation devices, locally called payaw, have been installed a few kilometres from the coast. Eight have been installed and 10 more will be in place later.

The payaw is a crude but effective device. It is composed of a buoy, a counterweight and 10 to 15 coconut fronts. The algae growth on the decomposing fronds attracts herbivores such as surgeon and rabbitfish that can draw in larger predators. A single payaw can yield at least 15 kilos of good fish per boat. Tambakol, tulingan, galunggong and even yellowfin tuna can be part of the catch.



“There’s resistance now because people fear change,” Sablayan mayor Godofreido Mintu told WWF. “But in the long run, they will benefit from this. Tourists will come back. Sablayan will once again be known worldwide. Mark my words, these protesters will thank us in a year’s time.” Yes, we will be watching.

My knee jerk reaction is to take the side of the disadvantaged locals but if this move promises something better for them and the next generation, it is worth a try. All extractive activities such as fishing, collection and harvesting of any life form will be completely banned from within the park. Ordinance No. 01 was the first law passed by Apo Reef’s Protected Area Managemant Board (PAMB) for 2007 and declares the whole of Apo Reef a ‘no-take zone’—to allow the reef and its residents ample time to recover from years of fishing.

Dwarfed only by Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, Apo Reef Natural Park (ARNP) is situated 15 nautical miles west of the Philippine municipality of Sablayan, Occidental Mindoro. It is a major component of the earth’s coral triangle, spanning a total of 27,469ha – 15,792ha for the actual reef and 11,677ha as a protective buffer zone.

Just over 30 years ago, the park was one of the world’s premier diving destinations. In the 1980s, when destruction was at its worst, basketloads of fish could still turn up in minutes.

Apo Reef’s biodiversity is impressive. At least 385 species of fish such as the diminutive Bicolor Blenny (Ecsenius bicolor), the couch-sized Napoleon Wrasse (Cheilinus undulatus), 190 coral, 26 algae and seven seagrass species. Larger residents and transients include the Manta Ray (Manta birostris), Sperm Whale (Physeter macrocephalus) and various types of sea turtle. Sea birds too, are well represented, with at least 46 migratory and resident species, including the famed Nicobar Pigeon (Caloenas nicobarica), roosting regularly on Apo’s three main islands.

The 1970s ushered in dynamite, cyanide, muro-ami and strobe-fishing to Apo Reef. Former DENR Protected Area assistant superintendent Robert Duquil recalled: “You would hear 25 to 30 dynamite blasts daily.” Fishermen from far places trooped to the area. In the 1980s the international diving community lost interest and destructive activities went on unabated.

It was in 1994 that the Department of Environment and natural Resources (DENR) assessed the remaining coral cover of 33 percent. Presidential Proclamation No. 868 decreed the reef a natural park in 1996. But enforcement was difficult. Zoning was enforced and allowed limited access to the eastern part. But the western area was not spared. Then Mother Nature herself struck back in 1998 with El Niño that raised ocean temperatures, a massive bleaching episode and the death of corals.

WWF Information Officer Gregg Yan says: “Most reefs in the Indo-Pacific host a small population of the coral-eating Crown-of-Thorns Starfish (Acanthaster planci). Unfortunately, Apo is plagued by millions—probably due to a lack of natural predators like the Giant Triton, Napoleon Wrasse and Harlequin Shrimp. Last week we collected over a thousand. But if their predators aren’t protected, the Crown-of-Thorns will be here to stay.”

WWF had a lead role in the passage of the decree through a radio campaign spearheaded by WWF Sablayan Project Manager John Manul. WWF has been advocating sustainable coastal practices for the Apo Reef Natural Park and Sablayan town since 2003. The nearby Tubbataha Reefs have benefited from such practices. Marine life doubled from 2004 to 2005.

In 2003, another assessment was made on Apo. Yan says coral cover was back at 43%. In 2006 it rose to 52%. Bigger fish are returning. Yan is thrilled. “A few months back, divers saw a school of over a hundred Scalloped Hammerhead sharks. Groups of Manta and Eagle Rays have been sighted in bigger concentrations. Giants like the Whaleshark and Sperm Whale are seen regularly. This is proof that biodiversity levels are better. Biodiversity is a prime indicator of a reef’s resiliency and its ability to deal with future threats.”

Nature can’t recover fast on its own. Human intervention is key.