Iit’s midnight on a beach in southern Negros Oriental, a province in the central Philippines, and all is dark and quiet. Except, that is, for the scene playing out in front of a small bamboo guardhouse. There, seven people had gathered: a middle-aged man was sprawled on a bench, a man and a woman wearing sports vests were hugging their knees to their chests while talking, and the others were walking back and forth barefoot with torches and green laser pointers shining. across the sand. All eyes were focused on a part of the ocean that was loosely shaded by a few white buoys.
This is the Bantay Dagat, the sea patrol, a group of volunteers appointed by the village who take turns staying awake all night to guard their waters. They prevent any local people attempting to fish illegally in community marine sanctuaries, and any commercial fishermen attempting to enter municipal waters within 15km (nine miles) of the coast.
“The only chance we have to survive is to police each other,” said 48-year-old Antonio “Toni” Yocor, who helped found the local Coast Guard in 2005 and has spent thousands of nights on the lookout. since then, looking for the bright light of the lights under the sea. Last night, they had to chase eight intruders in the dark.
The ocean surrounding the 7,641 islands of the Philippines is one of the world’s most abundant in marine biodiversity. With a reef system covering more than 22,000 sq km, it is the crown jewel of the Indo-Pacific Coral Triangle.
But this underwater treasure continues to be depleted due to the warming and acidification of the seas, chemical and plastic pollution and, above all, intensive overfishing and destructive harvesting methods. Over the decades, commercial fishermen have trawled and scraped across coral beds with superfine-mesh nets destroying everything in their path.
For the 1.1 million Filipinos who fish these reefs and, for the most part, live in poverty, the sea is thought of as a way to make ends meet and support their families. “People think about how to get as many fish as possible, but they don’t think about sustainability,” said Ceasar Ruiz, who was raised in a small fishing village.
While the fish used to be so plentiful that they seemed to jump off the hooks, fishermen began to see their catches dwindling.
To counter the trend, in the 1970s, the government introduced marine protected areas (MPAs) – no-fishing zones. MPAs, also known as marine sanctuaries, will not only protect important coral reefs from further destruction to preserve biodiversity but also serve as nurseries for juvenile fish.
Philippine waters are now home to more than 1,500 MPAs but while some of them are managed and funded by the national government, more than 90% of the sanctuaries are small and community-managed, relying heavily on local government and village volunteers for implementation.
And getting local communities on board with sanctuaries has not been easy, with MPA boundaries often being violated or ignored. Even the authorities turn a blind eye to any wrongdoing because the fishermen are often “their comrades”, Yocor said.
When Yocor started the patrol team, many family members and neighbors saw him as a traitor who had turned his back on the food security needs of the town. He said he regularly carries a gun on his Coast Guard shifts in case tensions rise and encounters get “bad.”
Today, MPA intruders are less frequent and less violent, and are mostly local hunters trying to sneak in for a big catch of fish when their family has nothing to eat or a big debt to pay. “It was a very difficult encounter, they were desperate. I understand, I’m also a fisherman,” says Yocor. The wardens shine their lights on trespassers, drive them away on foot or in boats, and are sometimes able to apprehend and fine them according to the power given them.
Data on wildlife development in these MPAs is collected by citizen scientists from the nonprofit organization Marine Conservation Philippines (MCP), who go out to the MPAs daily to check corals, invertebrates and fish . The MCP also provides a large portion of the funds needed to support the Ocean Guard and other volunteer efforts, such as the team of 35 guard women who look after the island’s mangrove forests, which are essential for the thriving ocean ecosystem as used by they are spawning fish.
“People don’t care about the mangroves, they say that their fishing nets get stuck in the mangroves, but preserving them will benefit the whole community that lives in this area, and all the places in coast,” said Evelyn Buca, who heads the volunteer project, as she gazes at the mangroves she’s been guarding since she was 11 years old.
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Rose Anne Yocor, Toni’s niece, runs MCP’s beach plastic collection program. The Philippines is one of the biggest ocean plastic polluters in the world, and his team collects an average of 400kg of plastic every day from the water and beaches.
This collective effort has helped change the narrative about how all ocean conservation efforts are interconnected and essential for the sake of food security. “It all started with the understanding that we need to preserve and protect our marine environment because it is the last frontier, if we can’t fish here, we will die,” said Mario Neil Montemar, the president of the local Fisherfolks Association and former member of one of the Sea Guard chapters. “Fishermen are the poorest of the poor.”
But the issue of illegal fishing will “continue” if the central government does not provide the right resources, Montemar said. “Batay Dagat also needs to eat, they are fishermen who also need to put food on the table for their families.”
More than 20,000 commercial vessels entered Philippine municipal waters in 2023. When these vessels raided and scooped up hundreds of thousands of kilos of fish – the second type of violation the Coast Guard had to watch out for – a pair of volunteers sailing the small ship. boat (the boats used for fishing and touring the many islands of the Philippines) is not a very effective deterrent. Montemar once confronted a large commercial fishing operator and was told his life was worth less than the 5,000 pesos (£70) the mogul would pay to kill him.
Although all municipal water restrictions are strictly enforced, Philippine law mandates that 15% of municipal waters be designated as no-fishing zones – but less than 1% of them is.
The Philippines would benefit from a network of connected and well-organized MPAs with support from the central and local governments, said Rene Abesamis, a marine biologist at the University of the Philippines and a leading expert on MPAs.
The Coast Guard should also be professional, trained, and paid like the guards on the Great Barrier Reef, Abesamis said, something that is being discussed in the national parliament. “We might have a chance if we do it right,” he said.
At noon on another beach in southern Negros Oriental, wind chimes made of shells and coral branches tickle in the breeze, and a man and woman sit on the makeshift porch of a bamboo guardhouse looking out to sea. Spotting illegal fishermen in daylight is a little easier: 64-year-old Carmen Pajula, who heads the Fisherfolks Association before Montemar and spends her fair share of days and nights patrolling the MPAs, says he sees only one way for his people – SUCCESSFULwhich means “prosper”.
