A CIRCULAR ECONOMY VERSUS A LINEAR ECONOMY

 A CIRCULAR ECONOMY VERSUS A LINEAR ECONOMY

HOW can we transition from a circular economy towards a linear economy? Wait a minute—shouldn’t it be the other way around? Exactly. I asked the question that way on purpose, because that is how most people are still living their lives—inside a linear economy—without realizing that the real challenge is to move out of it and into a circular one.

So, what is a linear economy? I ask that because I want to better understand what a circular economy is. In simple terms, the two are exact opposites. The linear economy follows a very straightforward flow: take, make, use, dispose. You extract resources, manufacture products, consume them, and then throw them away. End of story.

It sounds simple and efficient—but only in the short term. The linear model is resource-intensive, waste-generating, and unsustainable. It thrives on producing more, even if that means exhausting finite resources and filling landfills with garbage. Clearly, this model is no longer viable if our goal is long-term sustainability.

By contrast, the circular economy is regenerative. Instead of a dead-end disposal, it keeps materials in the loop—reuse, repair, recycle, redesign. Waste is minimized, resources are conserved, and products are built for durability. Sustainability is built into the system itself.

The real question now is: how do we get there? Should we change our laws? Should we even go higher and amend our Constitution? Perhaps not immediately. But very clearly, we need to change the way we do business.

The most practical place to start is with packaging. One-way packaging is the trademark of a linear economy: plastics and sachets used once and then discarded. A circular economy, on the other hand, designs packaging to be reused, refilled, or recycled. That small shift alone would drastically reduce waste in our cities.

Should laws be changed? Yes, all the way down to the local level. Quezon City has already banned one-way plastics. More cities should follow suit. But laws on paper are not enough. Implementation and innovation must go hand in hand.

Here’s where agencies like DEVDEP come in. They should review local laws and recommend how circular practices can be embedded across industries. DepEd, CHED, and TESDA should integrate circular economy concepts into their curricula—so that young people grow up with sustainability as second nature.

Congress, for its part, can pass laws requiring two-way packaging, perhaps backed by deposit-refund systems. Imagine buying a soda in a glass bottle and getting a refund when you return it, as was common in the past. That is a simple circular model we have already tried before—and abandoned too quickly in favor of plastic convenience.

Local governments should also embrace innovative solutions. Spurway Enterprises, for example, is introducing Reverse Vending Machines (RVMs)—machines that accept empty bottles or cans and give consumers a reward, such as the models distributed by Spurway Enterprises. Such initiatives not only reduce waste but also create a culture of accountability.

The government, too, can reinforce positive behavior by giving awards to companies that adopt circular packaging. Recognition, after all, is a powerful motivator in business.

But let us not leave it all to government. Communities and industries must move together. Consider the textile industry. In a linear model, fast fashion clothes are worn briefly and then dumped in landfills. In a circular model, textile scraps can be reclaimed by artisans, rewoven into new products, and sold in local markets—creating income while reducing waste.

This is where barangay-level initiatives come in. Imagine artisans reusing discarded glass, ceramics, and textiles. Imagine NGOs and schools teaching children not only how to sort waste but also how to transform it into useful products. Imagine LGUs providing space for micro-facilities where recycling and upcycling can happen. That is community-based circular economy in action.

To be clear: transitioning to a circular economy is not just about waste management. It is about rethinking the entire system. It is about moving from volume-based growth to value-based sustainability. It is about designing for longevity, not obsolescence. It is about turning consumers into co-creators of value.

The truth is, we are still stuck in the linear mindset. But the longer we wait, the more waste piles up, the more resources run dry, and the more vulnerable our economy becomes to shocks. The circular economy is not just a nice idea. It is a necessity.

So, my question remains: how do we start? Perhaps by changing our mindset, then our business practices, then our local ordinances, and eventually, our national policies. Sustainability should no longer be an option. It should be the rule of the game.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

10-27-2025 

DNA EVIDENCE FREES INNOCENT PRISONER, CAUSES CONVICTION OF NEGLIGENT PROSECUTOR

DNA EVIDENCE FREES INNOCENT PRISONER, CAUSES CONVICTION OF NEGLIGENT PROSECUTOR

In 1986, Michael Morton was convicted of murdering his wife in Texas. He spent nearly 25 years in prison for a crime he did not commit. What set him free? DNA evidence found on a bandana near the crime scene—evidence that had been there all along but was never properly considered.

The real killer, Mark Alan Norwood, was eventually identified through that DNA. By then, Morton had already lost decades of his life behind bars. It’s a story that should shake us all.

But here’s where the case becomes extraordinary. The prosecutor, Ken Anderson, who later even became a judge, was found guilty of misconduct. He had withheld exculpatory evidence—including the testimony of Morton’s young son, who said his father was not present at the time of the murder, and a neighbor’s report of a suspicious man near the house. These details could have saved Morton from wrongful conviction, but Anderson chose not to disclose them.

This was not a mistake. It was negligence, perhaps arrogance. And it came at a terrible cost.

In a historic ruling, Anderson himself was punished. He was sentenced to jail time, fined, required to do community service, removed from the bench, and disbarred. Imagine that—the prosecutor who sent an innocent man to prison ended up in prison himself, even if only for a short period. This was the first time in U.S. history that a prosecutor was jailed for such misconduct.

But the story does not end with Morton’s release or Anderson’s disgrace. Out of this tragedy came reform. In 2013, Texas passed the Michael Morton Act, a landmark law that forever changed criminal procedure in that state. The Act requires prosecutors to share all evidence with the defense—automatically and fully. No more discretion. No more hiding behind “prosecutorial privilege.” No waivers allowed. And, critically, the duty to disclose evidence continues indefinitely, even after conviction.

This, to me, is the real lesson: Morton didn’t stop at gaining his freedom. He turned his suffering into advocacy. He invested his time and effort to push for reforms that would protect others from the same injustice.

Now, let’s bring the discussion home to the Philippines. Our legal system also mandates disclosure of evidence, but the reality is uneven. There have been too many cases where accused persons feel blindsided by evidence that suddenly surfaces in court—or worse, never surfaces at all. Some lawyers and academicians are now advocating reforms inspired by the Michael Morton Act. They are calling for stronger disclosure rules, better oversight of prosecutors, and digitized case management systems that leave no room for hiding or manipulating evidence.

They are even inviting volunteers to join this advocacy—including ICT experts who can help design systems for recording, storing, and interpreting DNA and other forms of evidence. That’s a smart move. After all, modern justice is not just about laws—it’s about technology.

So here are my questions: Should we wait for a “Michael Morton” case to happen here before we act? Do we need an innocent Filipino to lose 25 years of his life before we strengthen prosecutorial accountability? Or can we learn from this precedent and move now, while trust in our justice system is already strained?

There’s also the matter of deterrence. Anderson’s punishment, though light compared to Morton’s suffering, sent a strong message: prosecutors are not above the law. They, too, can be held accountable. Should we not consider similar accountability measures here? Shouldn’t our prosecutors face real consequences—removal, disbarment, even imprisonment—if they knowingly withhold evidence?

DNA technology is already used in our courts, though sparingly. But are we prepared to handle it properly? Do we have the capacity to store, test, and interpret DNA samples without corruption or incompetence creeping in? If we don’t, then inviting ICT experts into this advocacy makes even more sense.

What happened in Texas shows us two things: first, that the justice system can fail in the most devastating ways; second, that it can also reform itself if pushed hard enough. For Morton, it took half a lifetime to get justice. For Anderson, it took disgrace to learn that power has limits. For Texas, it took one man’s ordeal to change the rules for everyone else.

Must we wait for our own Michael Morton before we act? Or will we take this as a warning and move toward reforms now? The choice, as always, is ours.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

10-26-2025 

SOME IDEAS ABOUT HOW TO MAKE USE OF WASTE GLASS COLLECTED FROM OUR WATERWAYS

SOME IDEAS ABOUT HOW TO MAKE USE OF WASTE GLASS COLLECTED FROM OUR WATERWAYS

It seems that wherever we go these days—rivers, creeks, esteros, even along our coastlines—we see not just plastic waste but also a good deal of glass bottles, jars, and broken fragments. While plastics usually get the headlines, glass is just as problematic. Unlike organic matter, it does not decompose; it just sits there, often breaking into sharp pieces that pose dangers to humans, animals, and the environment.

So, what can we do about it? Collecting it is the first logical step, and in fact, collecting glass is easier than collecting plastic because glass is just one category. Plastics, by contrast, have about seven categories, and these require separate processing streams. That makes glass, in a way, less complicated to deal with.

But what happens after collection? That’s where we need to get creative. In Bali, for example, they have the “Sungai Carafe”—a beautifully designed water container made from waste glass collected in rivers. The carafe is marketed not only as a product but as a symbol of ecological restoration. It proves that something once polluting a river can be turned into something useful and even elegant.

I like the concept, but I also ask: is a carafe the best use of waste glass here in the Philippines? Art pieces and decorative items are good, but they usually have small, niche markets. If we want real impact, shouldn’t we be aiming for products with bigger commercial value and broader demand? A well-promoted glass carafe could sell, yes—but how many households or restaurants will realistically buy them?

That leads me to a bigger question: Could we think in terms of building materials? Waste glass, after all, can be crushed and turned back into sand or silica. This could be used for road construction, cement mixes, or even as filler in eco-concrete. In some countries, glass is also made into tiles and bricks. Imagine barangays producing their own decorative glass tiles for local markets, or paving bricks that reduce dependence on quarried stone. Wouldn’t that make a bigger dent in both waste management and local economic development?

Of course, these ideas are not just for entrepreneurs. I see a strong role here for cooperatives and local government units (LGUs). Why not empower barangay-based cooperatives to run micro-recycling hubs? With the right machines—a hammer mill or glass imploder for crushing, and perhaps a small kiln for artisanal products—these hubs could transform collected glass into usable raw material.

The machines are not beyond reach. A hammer mill or crusher could cost in the range of $2,000 to $8,000, while a more sophisticated imploder (which produces sand-like cullet safely) may run up to $15,000. A small electric kiln suitable for glaze work starts at around $1,500. These are not cheap, but neither are they impossible. With LGU support, cooperative management, and perhaps funding from DTI or TESDA, barangays could get started. Compare that investment to the costs of constantly dredging clogged rivers or hauling endless truckloads of mixed waste to dumpsites, and the numbers begin to make sense.

We must also link glass collection with plastic collection. They usually accumulate in the same places anyway, and barangay material recovery facilities (MRFs) could be equipped to handle both. In fact, setting up a local showcase—a “Barangay Circular Market Day” where products from reclaimed waste are sold—could boost awareness and even generate pride. People might think twice before throwing bottles into rivers if they know those bottles could become part of a road, a tile, or a water carafe sold in their own community.

One more angle to consider: partnerships with artisans. Filipinos are highly creative, and we already have pottery traditions, glassblowing in some localities, and plenty of design schools. Why not tap students, designers, and artisans to collaborate with barangay cooperatives? They could co-create functional and attractive products, adding cultural motifs or local design elements that make each item unique.

The big picture, of course, is livelihood. Waste collectors, artisans, youth groups, and cooperatives all stand to gain from a system where trash becomes resource. And it is not only about jobs—it is about dignity. Turning waste into worth restores not just rivers but also community spirit.

So here are my questions to our policymakers and local leaders: Do we want to continue treating waste glass as useless debris, or do we want to see it as a potential raw material for industry and culture? Could we move beyond token projects and scale up barangay-level recycling hubs that feed into larger markets? And could we begin to think less about disposal and more about transformation?

If Bali can make carafes from river glass, surely, we can do something just as creative—if not more practical. After all, we are a nation that prides itself on ingenuity. Perhaps the next time we walk along a riverbank and see a pile of empty bottles, we might not just see trash—we might see the beginnings of a road, a brick, or even a new means of livelihood.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

10-25-2025 

TACKLING CORRUPTION IN THE PHILIPPINES—AGAIN?

TACKLING CORRUPTION IN THE PHILIPPINES—AGAIN?

The expose by President Ferdinand R. Marcos, Jr. of the corruption in flood control projects has once again stirred public interest in that familiar battle cry—let’s tackle corruption in the Philippines. Yes, we’ve heard it before, many times over, under every administration. But the question remains: will it be different this time?

It seems we already have the mechanisms to fight corruption. We have the Ombudsman, the Commission on Audit (COA), the Sandiganbayan, and countless anti-graft laws. We even have new technologies: drones, satellites, and project monitoring software. But despite all of these, corruption remains as stubborn as ever. Why?

Is it just a matter of lacking political will? If that’s the case, are we now seeing the “big push” from the President himself? He has openly called on local mayors to expose corruption in their own jurisdictions. Admirable words, but actions are what count. So far, we’ve only seen Mayor Vico Sotto of Pasig and Mayor Benjie Magalong of Baguio step forward. Where are the others? Why the deafening silence from most mayors? Fear? Complicity? Or is it simply the culture of keeping quiet rather than rocking the boat?

That silence is telling. Because corruption in the Philippines is not just a system of bad apples—it is a network, a culture, a way of political survival. Politicians routinely accept “donations” from contractors, a practice not illegal but clearly rife with conflicts of interest. Should we continue to tolerate this? If the law says it is legal but common sense tells us it is wrong, isn’t it time to close that loophole?

This is where things get complicated. Fighting corruption is not just about catching thieves. It’s about changing incentives, dismantling rent-seeking networks, and—most importantly—building trust that honesty pays better than dishonesty. Right now, the incentives lean the other way.

Let us consider the tools already on the table. Project DIME, for example, uses satellite and drone technology to monitor infrastructure projects. Imagine a bird’s-eye view of flood control projects, roadworks, and public buildings. From above, ghost projects have nowhere to hide. But here’s the catch: technology is only as effective as the people who manage it. If the monitoring agencies themselves are compromised, then all the drones and satellites in the sky won’t matter.

Then there’s project monitoring software, already available in the market. If adopted widely, these systems could create real-time dashboards for citizens to track budgets and progress. But again—will government use them? Or will they gather dust like so many other reforms announced with much fanfare but forgotten in practice?

The truth is that corruption thrives in opacity and impunity. Justice institutions remain weak, vulnerable to political capture. Procurement rules are skirted by executive agreements. Oversight bodies are fragmented. And culturally, we have normalized corruption to the point that it is treated as a “necessary evil” for political survival.

So, are the mechanisms enough for us to win? On paper, yes. In practice, not yet. Without shielding the Ombudsman, COA, and judiciary from interference, we cannot expect consistent enforcement. Without mandatory transparency in contracts, bidding remains a playground for favored contractors. Without empowering civil society and the media, whistleblowers will stay silent, and journalists will remain targets.

What then can be done? First, strengthen institutions, not personalities. Second, close the loopholes that allow “legal” conflicts of interest. Third, localize anti-corruption efforts down to the barangay level, where citizens themselves can see where every peso goes. And fourth, protect those who dare to speak out—because corruption cannot be fought by a single President alone.

So yes, President Marcos has started another push to tackle corruption. But the real test is whether this will go beyond speeches and exposés. Will we finally see accountability? Will more local officials step up, or will they stay silent in the shadows?

We Filipinos have learned to be skeptical, because we’ve seen this movie before. But perhaps, just perhaps, if this “big push” combines technology, transparency, and real political courage, then maybe we will not have to ask the same question all over again a few years from now.

But until that day comes, the title remains a question, not a declaration: Tackling Corruption in the Philippines—Again?

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

10-24-2025 

THE PHILIPPINES HAS JOINED THE FIRST MEETING OF THE UN GLOBAL PLASTICS TREATY

THE PHILIPPINES HAS JOINED THE FIRST MEETING OF THE UN GLOBAL PLASTICS TREATY

It is a good thing that the Philippines has attended the first-ever meeting of the UN Global Plastics Treaty held in Geneva recently. This is a landmark initiative—one that could eventually shape how the world tackles the scourge of plastic pollution. For sure, there will be more meetings to follow, and with them, the recurring question: who should lead the next Philippine delegations?

As a former Foreign Service Officer (FSO), I will admit my bias: the Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA) should lead all delegations and negotiations abroad. We are not talking about ordinary conferences here—these are intense, high-stakes negotiations that will culminate in a treaty. Such a treaty will have to be ratified by our Senate and signed by the President. That requires not just technical expertise, but also diplomatic skill, familiarity with treaty law, and the ability to navigate international politics.

That said, I have yet to hear of any call for papers, consultations, or even a whisper of public discussion on what the Philippines should bring to the table in these talks. Do you know of any NGO that was asked to submit a position paper? I don’t. And I find that troubling.

Ideally, every sector in the plastic supply chain should have been consulted—from producers to distributors, from consumers to waste collectors. Without such input, are we only hearing the voices of the regulators and the violators, but not the advocates? Could some agencies be quietly blocking the participation of environmental groups to avoid uncomfortable truths?

If consultations were skipped for the first round, perhaps we can still remedy this in the future rounds. Beyond DENR, agencies like DTI, DOST, MMDA, DA, BFAR, and DOH should be at the table. Plastics affect not only waste streams, but also agriculture, fisheries, and public health—especially with the growing concern over microplastics.

The DENR is currently leading the Philippine delegation, with DFA providing support. The team is also joined by Filipino civil society advocates like Greenpeace Philippines, EcoWaste Coalition, GAIA, and members of the Break Free from Plastic Movement. But should they be the only ones involved? These groups are pushing for strong, binding commitments to cut plastic production, ban toxic additives, and end incineration as a “solution.” Their point is clear: the treaty must address the full life cycle of plastics—not just waste management.

Why is this important? Because the Philippines is both a top contributor to ocean plastic pollution and one of the most vulnerable to its impacts. Coastal barangays and urban flood zones pay the price for plastic waste—whether in the form of blocked drainage during storms or toxic leachate contaminating water sources.

Unfortunately, the current treaty draft is already under fire for dropping key provisions on production limits and chemical bans. A watered-down agreement will do little for countries like ours, where plastic waste is not just an environmental problem but a public health and economic one.

This is where leadership matters. Since Ambassador Carlos Sorreta is already in Geneva as our Permanent Representative to the UN, why not have him lead the delegation? He has the diplomatic credentials, the multilateral experience, and the proximity to the negotiating floor. For technical backup, the Roster of Inventors, Scientists, and Engineers (ROSIE) could be tapped for expertise.

Negotiations like these are a mix of science, politics, and persuasion. The Philippines needs a head delegate who understands the legal language of treaties, the technical aspects of plastic pollution, and the subtle art of coalition-building. We should be aligning with the so-called High Ambition Coalition—countries pushing for production caps, chemical phase-outs, and binding obligations.

But to negotiate strongly abroad, we must first get our act together at home. This means inclusive consultations, a clear national position, and the courage to challenge powerful industry lobbies. If the treaty is meant to be a turning point, let us make sure it turns in the right direction—towards a Philippines that no longer drowns in its own plastic waste.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

10-23-2025 

 

LAGOS IMPOSES BAN ON SINGLE USE PLASTICS

 LAGOS IMPOSES BAN ON SINGLE USE PLASTICS

Lagos, Nigeria — the bustling megacity of more than 20 million people — has just joined the growing list of cities around the world that have banned single-use plastics. This is a bold step for a city that produces 870,000 tons of plastic waste every year, out of the world’s 57 million tons. And yet, while the ban sounds impressive on paper, the reality is far from clean and green.

Under the new law, which took effect July 1, single-use items like Styrofoam packs, plastic cutlery, plates, and straws are officially prohibited. Businesses that defy the ban risk closure. But as often happens with big announcements, implementation is proving to be the real challenge. A quick stroll through Lagos’ markets shows Styrofoam packs still stacked on shelves and used freely by food vendors.

One shop manager openly admitted he still uses plastic packs five times a day — because they are cheap, convenient, and, frankly, alternatives are scarce. This points to the first big problem: it is easy to ban, but how do you enforce it?

This situation sounds familiar here in the Philippines. Many of our own cities — Las Piñas, Pasay, Pasig, Makati, Muntinlupa, Quezon City, and Parañaque — have declared bans or restrictions on single-use plastics. But there is a big difference between a restriction and a ban. A restriction says, “Please use less.” A ban says, “You can’t use it at all.” Too many LGUs take the safer middle ground, perhaps to avoid complaints from businesses and consumers. But here’s the question: When will these cities be brave enough to move from restriction to outright prohibition?

And even with a complete ban, what if plastics from non-complying businesses still end up in the city’s garbage trucks? Do we have clear protocols for confiscating them or penalizing offenders? More importantly, can one city’s ban really work if the next city over still allows them? In the Philippines, residents can just cross a boundary to buy plastic-packaged goods. The same happens in Lagos.

Lagos’ deeper problem is that its waste management system is overwhelmed. The city produces 13,000 tons of waste daily — almost 20% of it plastics — much of which ends up in waterways, clogging canals, polluting beaches, and even contributing to devastating floods. Banning plastics without upgrading waste collection and disposal systems is like banning cigarettes without funding public health clinics — the intention is good, but the infrastructure isn’t ready.

Environmental activists in Lagos point out that without strong enforcement, affordable alternatives for vendors, and serious investment in waste management, the law will remain more symbolic than practical. And manufacturers, too, have a responsibility. If they produce plastic packaging, they should have a clear system for collecting it back for recycling. Extended Producer Responsibility (EPR) laws exist in theory, but how often do we see them enforced?

Interestingly, some Lagos residents have taken matters into their own hands. Private waste managers and informal recyclers sort, clean, and sell discarded plastics to private companies. They earn a small but steady income — about 5,000 naira (roughly ₱200) a day — from this work. But their efforts, while admirable, can’t keep pace with the flood of waste.

Here in the Philippines, we could make compliance easier with practical solutions. First, cities should provide color-coded garbage bins, such as those manufactured by INCA, to encourage waste segregation. Second, they could deploy Reverse Vending Machines (RVMs) — like the ones from Spurway Enterprises — in malls, markets, and barangay centers, giving residents a convenient way to return bottles and other recyclables for a small reward.

Behavioral change is also essential. People will only give up single-use plastics when they have viable, affordable alternatives. That means supporting local businesses that sell reusable containers, compostable packaging, and refillable products. Without this, bans will remain a frustrating cycle of announcement, partial compliance, and eventual fading into the background noise of good intentions.

The lesson from Lagos is clear: banning single-use plastics is just one step. It must be paired with affordable alternatives, consistent enforcement, waste management upgrades, and public education. Otherwise, the law becomes just another press release — and the plastic continues to pile up.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

10-22-2025 

REINVENTING THE CHARITY WARDS IN PRIVATE HOSPITALS

REINVENTING THE CHARITY WARDS IN PRIVATE HOSPITALS

President Ferdinand R. Marcos Jr. has announced the “zero balance billing” policy in all Department of Health (DOH)-owned and operated hospitals. In my book, that’s already close to having “universal health care”.

Finally, with the help of some friends at PHILHEALTH, I was able to clarify that the Zero Balance Billing (ZBB) program of the government applies not only to the public hospitals that are owned and operated by the DOH, but to all public hospitals, provided that the patients are confined in ward type accommodations, and not in private rooms.

Furthermore, the ZBB program includes all professional fees involved during the surgery or confinement, provided that no other doctors are involved in the surgery or confinement, aside from those who are already working in the hospital concerned. What that means is that if there is any other doctor or specialist who is called in from the outside, his or her professional fees will not be covered by the ZBB program.

But what if for any reason, the patient or the family of the patient has no choice but to bring him or her to a private hospital? It is not yet very clear, but I think that the government is working on that to be covered by ZBB too, if the patient is also billeted in a ward type of accommodation, and not in a private room.

One thing that is already in the law — and not open to interpretation — is that no hospital, public or private, may turn away a patient who enters their premises. The real question is: what happens if the patient is indigent and cannot afford to pay?

On paper, that’s not supposed to be a problem. PhilHealth can reimburse most of the bills — medicines, professional fees, and all — except for private room costs. For indigent patients, private rooms are usually out of the question anyway.

If PhilHealth can’t cover everything, there’s always the Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office (PCSO), which can issue a Guarantee Letter to shoulder some expenses. Again, private rooms and professional fees may not be included — but in theory, an indigent patient can still walk out of a private hospital with zero to pay, provided they weren’t in a private room.

That’s in theory. Reality, however, tends to throw in a lot of ifs and buts. What if the hospital only has private rooms? What if ordinary rooms are full and the patient ends up in a private one? I’ve seen this happen and trust me — things can get messy very quickly.

So, here’s my proposed solution — one I wish hospital administrators would take seriously: bring back the charity wards.

Back in the day, every hospital had them. They weren’t just a token bed or two; they were actual wards — multiple beds set aside for indigent patients. This wasn’t just good practice; it was once official policy. In fact, DOH Administrative Order No. 2007-0041 still requires all private hospitals to allocate at least 10% of their authorized bed capacity as “charity beds.”

The problem? The requirement says “beds,” not “wards.” Beds can be scattered here and there, often not in the same room, and that defeats the whole point of a charity ward — a dedicated space for those who need it most. My suggestion is simple: interpret that 10% rule to mean charity wards, not just beds.

In principle, every public hospital should already be a charity hospital — free for everyone, not just the poor. The President’s recent pronouncement has moved us closer to that ideal in DOH hospitals. But I find it both amusing and a bit absurd that some public hospitals still have private rooms. Isn’t that an oxymoron — a “private” room in a public hospital?

I’m told they exist because hospitals need the extra revenue to survive under tight budgets. Maybe so. But if the President’s attention (and funding) is on this issue, perhaps that financial necessity will soon disappear. And maybe — just maybe — the day will come when private rooms vanish from public hospitals altogether, and every bed is, in effect, a charity bed.

Until that day, let’s make sure that private hospitals do their part. The 10% charity bed requirement shouldn’t just be a licensing checkbox; it should be visible, accessible, and serving those in need.

Right now, the DOH’s monitoring system is decentralized and largely manual. There’s no public dashboard to see which hospitals are compliant. Hospitals are supposed to declare their charity bed count in annual reports, but there’s little transparency. The DOH has hinted at requiring hospitals to post their charity bed numbers and standard fees publicly — both on-site and online — and I say, the sooner the better.

We could also sweeten the deal: offer tax incentives or PhilHealth processing priority for hospitals that actively and transparently maintain charity wards. Because while “charity” may sound like an act of goodwill, in this case, it’s also a legal obligation.

Yes, PhilHealth and PCSO are there to help cover costs, so technically these aren’t “free” beds in the sense of pure philanthropy. But at least they aren’t an oxymoron — unlike the private rooms in public hospitals.

If the government can truly enforce the zero-balance policy in DOH hospitals and require genuine charity wards in private ones, then maybe we can move closer to the day when the word “indigent” will no longer determine whether you get treated — or how well.

And if that day comes, we won’t just be reinventing the charity wards. We’ll be reinventing fairness itself.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres
iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

10-21-2025