BURIAL POLICY REFORM FOR PUBLIC CEMETERIES

 BURIAL POLICY REFORM FOR PUBLIC CEMETERIES

It seems there is no fairness in death, as there is none in life.

I am not even talking about the obvious gap between the rich who rest in air-conditioned mausoleums and the poor who are buried under the tropical sun. I am talking about something far more absurd — that the poor can be evicted from their graves after just five years, while the rich can rest in peace forever.

But wait — evicted? Isn’t that a term we usually apply to the living, like tenants who fail to pay rent? Apparently not. In many local government units (LGUs) across the Philippines, the dead, too, can be evicted if their families fail to pay a renewal fee after the so-called “free burial period” expires.

In public cemeteries, burial is often free — but only temporarily. After five years, relatives must pay a rental or extension fee, usually between ₱4,000 and ₱5,000. If they can’t afford it, their loved one’s remains are exhumed and transferred to an ossuary or, worse, discarded to make way for new burials.

I can’t help but ask: Why can’t the poor rest in peace, even in death?

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The Price of Dying

The reality is grim — and expensive. The average burial cost in the Philippines (based on 2023–2025 data) ranges from ₱8,000 for the most basic service to ₱500,000 or more for premium packages in private memorial parks. A small cemetery lot in a provincial public cemetery can cost up to ₱100,000, while private lawn lots in Metro Manila can go for ₱600,000 or even higher.

Inflation, urban congestion, and lack of public land have turned dying into a luxury. Golden Haven Memorial Park in Las Piñas, for instance, sells lots for ₱375,000 to ₱825,000, depending on size. Compare that to public cemeteries, where “temporary” lots are reused every few years to make room for new burials.

Death, in other words, has become an issue of land economics — and, therefore, of justice.

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The Policy Problem

This unfairness is not due to neglect alone; it’s also a result of policy gaps. Public cemeteries are managed by LGUs, each setting their own rules, fees, and tenure terms. There is no national policy guaranteeing perpetual burial rights for the poor.

In fairness, some LGUs have shown compassion. Malabon City offers free cremation services for residents, and Quezon City provides free public cemetery burials for up to five years. But after that, families must pay or relocate the remains. The Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD) also provides limited burial assistance under the AICS program, but it’s not enough to cover ongoing fees or lot renewals.

The bottom line: no one agency truly owns the problem. The Department of the Interior and Local Government (DILG) oversees LGUs. The Department of Health (DOH) sets health protocols for burial. The Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) regulates land use. But who ensures that the poor can rest permanently without eviction?

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What Can Be Done

It’s time we talk seriously about Burial Policy Reform for Public Cemeteries. Here are some options worth considering:

1. National Burial Tenure Law – Congress should pass a law guaranteeing a permanent resting place for indigent citizens buried in public cemeteries. Once interred, no one should be exhumed merely because of non-payment.
   
   

2. Municipal Columbaria and Ossuaries – Instead of “eviction,” LGUs could build columbaria and communal ossuaries where remains can be respectfully relocated after decomposition. These can be vertical structures — space-saving and easier to maintain.
   
   

3. Eco-friendly Burial Systems – As land becomes scarce, alternative solutions such as biodegradable urns, compostable coffins, and tree burials should be explored. This approach has already been adopted in Singapore and parts of Europe.
   
   

4. Burial Cooperatives – LGUs can encourage communities to form burial cooperatives. Members contribute small amounts regularly to fund dignified, long-term resting spaces. Think of it as a “mutual aid” approach to death care.
   
   

5. Circular Design in Death Care – Instead of building endless concrete tombs, the government can promote circular infrastructure — recyclable materials, green landscaping, and energy-efficient crematoriums.
   
   

6. Coordination Between DTI, DA, and DENR – These agencies already cooperate on sustainability and livelihood. Why not coordinate on waste reduction, cemetery planning, and the reuse of biodegradable materials for urns and markers?
   
   

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Lessons from Recent Reforms

The passage of the Philippine Islamic Burial Act (RA 12160) in 2025 is a good starting point. It recognizes cultural and religious burial customs — a big step toward more inclusive death governance. But fairness must also extend to the poor, regardless of faith.

Death should be treated not merely as a logistical or financial matter but as a human dignity issue. No one should be told their loved one must “vacate” a grave because the family could not afford to pay rent for the dead.

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A Final Word

Perhaps the greatest irony in our burial system is this: the rich occupy land forever, while the poor borrow it for five years.

We often say “rest in peace,” but peace has become a privilege.

I believe every Filipino — rich or poor — deserves a final resting place that is permanent, dignified, and affordable. Reforming our burial policies is not just about managing space. It’s about restoring dignity, equality, and compassion — values that should endure beyond the grave.

So, to our lawmakers and LGU leaders: let the dead finally rest in peace. Permanently.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/03-24-2026

LET US BRING BACK THE PULP PAPER EGG TRAYS

LET US BRING BACK THE PULP PAPER EGG TRAYS

I recently revisited the humble egg tray—a small object we hardly notice, yet one that says a lot about how we treat our planet. The first pulp paper egg tray was invented in 1918 by British innovator Thomas Peter Hand, who had the bright idea of using molded paper pulp to protect each egg in its own little compartment. It was a simple, brilliant solution: biodegradable, lightweight, and made from waste materials like used paper and cardboard.

Now that we know who the genius was who invented the pulp paper egg tray, one can’t help but ask—who was the idiot who invented the plastic egg tray?

As it turns out, no one knows exactly. The plastic egg tray wasn’t the brainchild of any single inventor. It simply appeared in the post–World War II industrial era, when plastic began replacing everything from glass bottles to paper packaging. It was the age of convenience—durability over biodegradability, cost over conscience.

But now, in 2025, that convenience has come at an enormous environmental cost. While the world is shifting—slowly but surely—toward sustainability, plastic egg trays still flood our markets.

The Plastic Disconnect

Here’s something that bothers me: some brands that pride themselves on ethical farming still use plastic packaging. Take Best Buy Cage Free Eggs, for example. Whoever owns that brand deserves credit for promoting humane poultry practices—cage-free hens, a step toward animal welfare. But when it comes to packaging, they fail the sustainability test. It’s a contradiction: ethical to chickens, but not to the environment that sustains them.

This disconnect exposes a broader corporate problem. Companies like these need to realize that corporate responsibility doesn’t stop at the barnyard. It extends to every stage of the supply chain—including packaging, transport, and disposal.

The State of the Tray

According to industry data from 6Wresearch (2025–2031), the Philippine egg tray market remains divided between plastic and paper pulp, with plastic dominating commercial and industrial use. Plastic trays are durable, stackable, and reusable—perfect for cold storage and long-distance transport—but terrible for landfills and marine ecosystems.

Meanwhile, pulp paper trays, though fully biodegradable and compostable, are largely confined to smaller producers and local markets. And yet, these are the very trays that could help us transition to a circular economy—one where waste becomes raw material again.

Where Are the Regulators?

If the Department of Agriculture (DA) oversees poultry farms, and the Department of Trade and Industry (DTI) regulates packaging standards, then shouldn’t the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) have a say in how eggs are packed and sold?

Between these three agencies, one would expect some coordination. But so far, there seems to be a policy gap—no clear inter-agency effort to curb plastic egg tray use or promote biodegradable alternatives.

So, I ask:

• Why not issue incentives for companies that shift to pulp packaging?
  
  

• Why not have local government units (LGUs) require biodegradable trays in public markets?
  
  

• And why not support cooperatives or community enterprises to locally produce pulp trays using waste paper?
  
  

A ban would be ideal, but diplomacy and incentives might work faster. I believe many companies—especially those that claim to be sustainable—would respond positively if shown the economic and reputational benefits of going green.

A Call for Circular Thinking

Reviving pulp paper egg trays isn’t just nostalgia—it’s a circular design solution. It means turning trash (used paper, cartons, banana stems, even coconut husks) into something useful again.

Here’s a vision:

• Schools collect used paper waste.
  
  

• Barangay cooperatives process it using small-scale pulp molding machines.
  
  

• Local markets and poultry farms buy the trays.
  
  

• Used trays are collected, re-pulped, and remade.
  
  

This model creates livelihoods, reduces plastic waste, and builds community ownership of sustainability.

Some cities in India and Vietnam already have barangay-style micro-factories producing molded pulp packaging for eggs, fruits, and even electronics. Why can’t the Philippines follow suit? We have the skills, the waste paper supply, and the environmental motivation.

Beyond the Tray

This conversation goes beyond eggs. It’s about rethinking all packaging—from coffee cups to fish boxes. Every plastic tray, every foam container, is a missed opportunity for a circular system that could employ thousands and reduce pollution drastically.

Let’s stop being the country that imports problems and exports excuses. The pulp paper egg tray is a small but symbolic start.

We owe it to Thomas Peter Hand, the British inventor who used his genius to protect fragile eggs without harming the planet. Over a century later, it’s time for us to show the same ingenuity—not in creating more plastics, but in reviving what once worked perfectly well.

So here’s my suggestion:
Let’s bring back the pulp paper egg tray—not just as a product, but as a principle.
Because if we can’t even protect an egg sustainably, what hope do we have of protecting the Earth that gives us the egg in the first place?

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/ 03-23-2026

THE PROTECTOR BECOMES THE PREDATOR

 THE PROTECTOR BECOMES THE PREDATOR

I recently attended a lecture by Filipino sociologist Dr. Clemen C. Aquino and I came away with a metaphor that jolted me: bantay salakay — “guard turned attacker”, the protector turned predator. In her discussion, Dr. Aquino applied it to the exposed anomaly in the Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH) flood-control projects, where the very officials we expect to shield public funds may have become the ones preying upon them.

At first glance, many Filipinos already know what corruption is. But Dr. Aquino argued that when one imagines a protector — the guard, the public servant entrusted with oversight and honesty — morphing into a predator — a thief in uniform, the betrayal sinks deeper. She asked: “What happens when the guard steals what he is supposed to guard?” The image is powerful — it breaks the fog of jargon and positions the problem in human terms.

I couldn’t agree more. In simpler terms: a protector is like a guard standing watch. A predator is a thief. So when the guard becomes the thief, the society suffers the double harm of systems betrayed and trust eroded. The typical understanding of graft doesn’t always capture the depth of that betrayal. But framing it as bantay salakay gives the public a clearer picture.

Consider recent developments in the DPWH’s flood-control programs. A state audit found “ghost” projects—paid for but not built—in the province of Bulacan. Reports say a single contractor might have bagged up to ₱9 billion worth of contracts in Bulacan alone, with allegations of legislators and officials demanding 10-25 % kick-backs. 

According to the environmental group Greenpeace Philippines, possibly ₱1.089 trillion of climate-tagged funds are vulnerable to corruption, with the DPWH holding the bulk of those flood-control allocations. 

These are more than isolated bad apples. As Senator Panfilo Lacson said: parts of the DPWH have “become a playground” for collusion and profiteering. So the safeguard – the protector – apparently paves the way for predation.

My thoughts & questions

It’s easy to feel anger. Why did the public funds, meant for our flood-prone communities, end up lining pockets instead? More importantly: how do we stop this cycle of “protector becomes predator” from repeating?

Some suggestions:

1. Transparency and public visibility: If a flood-control project is approved, locals should be able to see it being built. Satellite imagery and geo-tagging already revealed ghost projects. Why not make ongoing progress visible in real time?
   
   

2. Independent oversight: Trusting the protector to police himself rarely works. The government has set up an Independent Commission for Infrastructure (ICI) to investigate infrastructure corruption. This could help break the cycle of internal cover-ups.
   
   

3. Limit concentration of contracts: When only 15 contractors handled 20% of flood-control funds, we see an oligopoly of favored firms. That raises red flags for collusion. Should contracting be spread more widely?
   
   

4. Accountability beyond resignation: Freezing assets is a start. For example, the DPWH has asked the Anti‑Money Laundering Council to freeze assets of implicated contractors and officials. But will there be full legal and criminal consequences?
   
   

5. Civic engagement: Ordinary citizens need to act as co-guardians. If you see “something wrong”, report it. If a wall near a river looks untouched months after being “completed”, raise your voice.
   
   

6. Culture shift: We must change the narrative that public office equals private enrichment. The metaphor of protector/predator helps. We deserve protectors, not predators.
   
   

One suggestion I’d like to float: Let’s propose a “community oversight board” for major projects in localities prone to disaster (floods, landslides). Local residents, engineers, journalists, and civil-society reps could form a small committee that visits sites, checks progress, and publishes quarterly plain-language updates. That way, we add more visible guards — but we make sure they are the public, not insiders who may eventually turn predator.

Because what if we simply install more guards, but the new guards also become thieves? Without transparency, oversight and citizen participation, the cycle continues. And that brings us back to the question Dr. Aquino posed: how do we make sure these predatory behaviors won’t happen again?

I leave you with the image that stuck with me: the guard who turns into the thief. When we equip someone with trust and duty, and they betray it — the damage is doubled. Not only did we lose resources, we lost a guardian. And in a country vulnerable to floods, storms and climate change, both the infrastructure and the trust matter.

I invite you: what ideas can you imagine to guard our guard-rails? How can we make sure that our protectors truly protect — and never prey? Let’s talk, let’s act.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/03-22-2026