WHAT IS OCEAN ACIDIFICATION?

 WHAT IS OCEAN ACIDIFICATION?

The Philippine government seems aware of the looming threat of ocean acidification, but awareness without urgency is not enough. The pace of action is slow, while the damage is accelerating. Corals are dying, marine biodiversity is weakening, and livelihoods dependent on healthy seas are at risk. This is one of those issues where hesitation could mean irreversible loss.

So, what exactly is ocean acidification? Simply put, it’s the process by which our oceans absorb excess carbon dioxide (CO₂) from the atmosphere. Around 30–40% of the CO₂ we release by burning fossil fuels dissolves in seawater, forming carbonic acid. That acid breaks down into bicarbonate and hydrogen ions, and those hydrogen ions make seawater more acidic. Since the Industrial Revolution, ocean surface pH has dropped from about 8.2 to 8.1—a seemingly tiny change that actually translates to a 25% increase in acidity. For shell-forming organisms, that’s catastrophic.

Corals, clams, oysters, and plankton need carbonate ions to build their skeletons and shells. But as the ocean becomes more acidic, these ions become scarcer, leaving marine life weaker and more vulnerable. Coral reefs, the “rainforests of the sea,” are hit especially hard. Combined with rising sea temperatures, acidification slows coral recovery and drives widespread bleaching. That means fewer fish nurseries, less protection from storm surges, and diminished biodiversity. For a country like the Philippines—sitting right in the Coral Triangle and dependent on reef-based fisheries—this is not just an environmental issue. It’s an economic and food security crisis in the making.

Globally, scientists have sounded the alarm for years. Locally, some steps are being taken. The Coastal Acidification Program (CAP), led by UP Marine Science Institute (UP-MSI) and De La Salle University with support from PCAARRD, has already gathered baseline data from 63 sites nationwide. They even built a mesocosm system to simulate acidified ocean conditions and study plankton responses. These are important first steps, but we need more than just research papers—we need laws, policies, and enforcement.

Right now, no dedicated legislation on ocean acidification exists. Researchers suggest folding it into the National Climate Change Action Plan, but is that enough? I would argue that Congress should pass a law specifically addressing this threat—something like an Ocean Acidification Prevention and Resilience Act. Such a law could mandate nationwide monitoring, set up community-based sensors in coastal towns, regulate high CO₂-emitting industries near the coasts, and fund adaptation programs for fisherfolk. If Congress takes too long, the President could even issue an Executive Order to jump-start coordination between agencies.

And coordination is key. The Bureau of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources (BFAR), UP-MSI, and the UP College of Fisheries and Ocean Studies should not be working in silos. The Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR), Department of Science and Technology (DOST), and even local governments must be fully engaged. Without synchronized action, our scattered efforts will not match the scale of the problem.

Let’s also not forget the livelihood side of the equation. Fisherfolk and coastal communities will bear the brunt of acidification. As reefs degrade and shellfish populations decline, their incomes will shrink. That’s why any law or program should include a transition fund, promote acidification-resilient species, and support community-based reef stewardship. Imagine equipping barangays not only with data but with the means to restore mangroves, farm seaweed, and protect reefs as natural defenses against both acidification and climate change.

Another crucial step is public awareness. How many Filipinos have even heard of “ocean acidification”? Ask the average student, or even the average policymaker, and the answers will likely be vague. This is where education must come in—DepEd can integrate it into science curricula, LGUs can launch information drives, and the media can frame it not as an abstract chemistry lesson but as a real threat to fish, food, and families.

Some will ask: do we really need another law? Can’t we just use the existing ones like the Fisheries Code, the Clean Water Act, or the Food Safety Act? Those are important, but they weren’t designed to confront acidification directly. We need to acknowledge it as a distinct hazard—one that affects biodiversity, food security, and even national security.

The Philippines has always been proud of being part of the Coral Triangle. But pride alone won’t keep our reefs alive. Without urgent action, ocean acidification could silently erode the very foundation of our marine ecosystems. This is not a problem for tomorrow. It is happening now. And if we fail to act decisively, we may soon find that the ocean, which has fed and protected us for centuries, has become too weak to do so anymore.

The time to act is not later. The time is now.

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 

09088877282/01-17-2026

SHOULD THE SALE OF CREAM DORY BE BANNED?

 SHOULD THE SALE OF CREAM DORY BE BANNED?

I must confess, I am allergic to cream dory. At first, I thought it was just my body being overly sensitive, until I realized that many other people share the same reaction. This raises a troubling question: if this fish affects so many of us, why is it still flooding our markets and restaurant menus? Even more concerning, some countries—including the United States, Australia, New Zealand, and India—have already banned or restricted its importation. If others have taken such measures, should we in the Philippines not at least study the possibility?

Let us be clear: cream dory, or pangasius (also called basa or Vietnamese cobbler), is not inherently evil. The controversy lies in how and where it is farmed. Much of the pangasius supply worldwide comes from the Mekong River, which has long been criticized for heavy pollution from industrial waste, agricultural runoffs, and even untreated sewage. Fish raised in such conditions may absorb toxins like pesticides and heavy metals. A French documentary, Poisson or Poison, made international headlines when it alleged unsanitary practices in pangasius farming, including freezing fish in dirty water and injecting them with chemicals to improve appearance.

Yet the science is not one-sided. Experts like Prof. Simon Bush of Wageningen University argue that not all pangasius farms are unsafe—some comply with international standards and even bear certifications like ASC (Aquaculture Stewardship Council). The European Union, while not banning pangasius, requires strict testing, traceability, and documentation before the fish can enter their markets. So, are we banning cream dory because of fact—or because of fear?

In the Philippines, the issue takes on another layer. Pangasius was introduced by both the Bureau of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources (BFAR) and private entrepreneurs as a hardy, fast-growing alternative aquaculture species. It is already being raised in ponds and cages across the country, providing livelihood to many small farmers. Unfortunately, cream dory is also an invasive species. It escapes during floods, colonizes rivers like the Marikina and Pasig, and competes with native fish such as biya, martiniko, and gourami. Worse, it feeds on the eggs and juveniles of these species, upsetting the ecological balance. In short, while it fattens dinner plates, it threatens our biodiversity.

If a ban is considered, it should not be abrupt. We cannot simply pull the rug from under farmers who invested in pangasius culture. A transition plan would be essential, offering alternatives like bangus, or even native species that could be scaled up. Otherwise, we risk replacing one problem with another: lost livelihoods.

In the meantime, several steps could and should be taken. First, labeling must be improved and strictly enforced. Consumers deserve to know where their fish comes from—whether imported from the Mekong or locally farmed in Laguna de Bay. This is where coordination between the Food and Drug Administration (FDA), Bureau of Customs (BOC), BFAR, and the Department of Trade and Industry (DTI) becomes crucial. Are these agencies even talking to each other? Or are shipments slipping through unchecked?

Second, importation must be monitored, if not limited. Why allow massive volumes when we could protect and promote safer local alternatives? Cream dory is cheap, yes—but should price alone dictate our choices? What good are savings if they come at the expense of public health, food security, and ecological sustainability?

Third, traceability laws already exist under the Food Safety Act of 2013 and the Fisheries Code of 1998. These empower BFAR to enforce documentation, record-keeping, and traceability in the supply chain. The problem is not the absence of laws, but the weakness of enforcement. If Europe can demand certifications and lab results before a pangasius fillet enters their borders, why can’t we? Are Filipino consumers less deserving of safety and transparency?

Some might argue that cream dory fills a gap in affordable protein, especially for low-income families. That is true. But there are alternatives. Bangus is not only abundant but also better adapted to our waters and more transparent in their production. Promoting these could support local farmers while reducing dependence on questionable imports.

In the end, the question is not whether cream dory should be banned tomorrow. The deeper question is whether our government values food safety, environmental protection, and consumer rights enough to take a firm stance. Are we willing to risk invasive species, questionable farming practices, and potential health hazards just to save a few pesos at the market?

For me, the answer lies in caution, transparency, and accountability. Until then, I will personally stay away from cream dory—and encourage others to ask not just what is on their plate, but where it came from. Because food, like politics, should never be swallowed blindly.

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 

09088877282/01-16-2026

ORIGINS OF THE PORK BARREL SYSTEM

 ORIGINS OF THE PORK BARREL SYSTEM

As I understand it, the pork barrel system started in the United States. It was designed, at least in theory, to fund local projects that could not possibly be “seen” or addressed from the federal perspective. At its origin, the system might have had noble intentions: to make sure that smaller, localized development needs—roads, bridges, schools—were funded even if they weren’t part of the big federal budget priorities.

But as we know too well, noble beginnings can be corrupted by political expediency. Over time, the pork barrel became less about development and more about political accommodation. Legislators realized that if they could secure money for local projects, they could also secure loyalty from voters—and from contractors. Thus began the transformation of the pork barrel into a tool of patronage.

By the time the system was “exported” to the Philippines during the American colonial era, it may have already been tainted. In 1922, Act 3044 or the Public Works Act gave our legislators discretionary power over public works funding. That was the formal beginning of pork barrel politics here. By 1950, amendments gave congressmen direct control over which projects would be funded. From there, it was only a matter of time before the pork barrel mutated into today’s system of insertions, commissions, and entitlement.

Fast forward to the present, the pork barrel system in the Philippines has acquired such a bad reputation that it has been rebranded several times. We’ve known it as the Countrywide Development Fund (CDF), then the Priority Development Assistance Fund (PDAF), and now as “congressional insertions.” But a change in name does not erase the culture it has created. Lawmakers treat projects as if they “own” them. They dictate not only where the funds go but also which contractors get the job—and how much they should pocket in commissions.

To be fair, there is nothing new about lawmakers stealing public funds. What is new is the percentage of the cut, which has ballooned with time. Stories abound of 20%, 30%, even 50% commissions from project funds. That is why, in 2013, the Supreme Court declared the PDAF unconstitutional after the Janet Napoles scandal revealed how billions of pesos in pork funds were funneled into ghost projects.

If we look at the U.S. experience, pork barrel spending has also been criticized there, but with one important difference: information. Citizens, watchdog groups, and the media can track federal spending in detail, making it harder to hide questionable allocations. In contrast, in the Philippines, opacity is the rule, not the exception.

Here’s an irony worth pointing out: when the pork barrel was first conceived, one justification was that national governments could not possibly see all local needs. But in this age of technology, that argument no longer holds. With geotagging, satellite mapping, and digital reporting, national governments can now identify even the smallest infrastructure gaps. There is no longer any excuse for duplicating, overlapping, or “invisible” projects.

The real issue, then, is not whether pork barrel funds address local needs. It is whether these funds are managed with transparency and accountability. Left unchecked, pork barrel allocations create a vicious cycle: politicians buy votes during elections, then recover their expenses through corrupt projects, then use the same projects to strengthen their patronage networks. And the cycle continues.

What is the way forward? Some suggest abolishing pork barrel entirely. The Supreme Court has already done this once, but the system has returned under different names. Others argue that local development funds are necessary, but they should be managed through participatory budgeting, where communities themselves decide which projects are prioritized. Imagine if barangay assemblies—not politicians—were empowered to determine how funds are spent, with every peso tracked through online dashboards open to the public.

This is where technology could be our ally. With proper digital systems, it is possible to know in real time what projects are funded, where they are located, and how much they cost. No more excuses that local needs are “invisible” from Manila. Transparency could also dismantle the culture of “ownership” that politicians have over public funds.

At its origin, the pork barrel system was meant to bridge the gap between national priorities and local realities. Along the way, it became a breeding ground for corruption. If we are serious about breaking this cycle, we must not only remember its history but also reimagine how public funds can truly serve the people.

So here is my suggestion: let us move away from pork barrel politics and move toward people’s barrel politics—budgets that are transparent, community-driven, and corruption-proof. Otherwise, we will just keep rebranding the same rotten system under new names, while the people remain hungry for genuine development.

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 

09088877282/01-15-2026

WHAT DOES THE BIBLE SAY ABOUT RESTITUTION?

 WHAT DOES THE BIBLE SAY ABOUT RESTITUTION?

Before we can even talk about restitution, we must first talk about repentance. In fact, restitution without repentance is hollow. It is nothing more than damage control. Repentance begins with acknowledging sin, asking for forgiveness, and then arriving at a firm resolve not to repeat the wrongdoing. Without that resolve, what good would it be if someone simply returns what he stole, but steals again the following day?

This is where the conversation about corruption in our country becomes painfully relevant. Many Filipinos have become resigned to corruption as if it were an accepted way of life—a normal way of doing business. But at its core, corruption is sin. And sin leads to graft, where the corruptor initiates and the grafter executes. The cycle continues because both parties keep playing their roles. Just as no one would sell votes if no one were willing to buy them, the same applies: the corruptor tempts, the grafter delivers.

The Bible, however, gives us a framework not only for forgiveness but also for making things right.

In the Old Testament, restitution was a concrete legal and moral requirement. Exodus 22:1 is clear: “If a man steals an ox or a sheep, he must pay back five oxen for the ox and four sheep for the sheep.” Restitution wasn’t just returning what was taken; it was paying back more to account for the harm done. In Leviticus 6:1–7, offenders were commanded to return what they stole, add one-fifth, and make a guilt offering to God. Numbers 5:5–8 even makes restitution a spiritual act, requiring repayment to the wronged party or, if impossible, to God through the priest. Ezekiel 33:15 links restitution with genuine repentance: “If a wicked man restores a pledge, pays back what he has taken by robbery… he shall surely live.”

In the New Testament, the emphasis shifts from legal obligation to personal transformation. When Zacchaeus, the corrupt tax collector, encountered Jesus, he declared: “If I have cheated anybody out of anything, I will pay back four times the amount” (Luke 19:8). Notice that restitution was not demanded of him; he volunteered it as proof of repentance. And what did Jesus say? “Today salvation has come to this house.” That shows restitution is not just about property—it is evidence of a changed heart.

The consistent theme across Scripture is this: restitution restores justice, but it is also a spiritual act. It restores relationships between people, and between people and God.

Now, how does this connect to our present-day society? Philippine law itself echoes this principle. Under the Revised Penal Code, every person criminally liable is also civilly liable. Article 100 says restitution is required when possible—meaning the return of the exact item wrongfully taken. If that is impossible, then reparation (monetary payment) or indemnification (compensation for other damages) follows. In theory, the law recognizes that wrongdoing is not just a matter for prison terms—it also demands restoration to the victims.

But here is the problem: we often see restitution without repentance, or worse, no restitution at all. Public officials caught stealing might “return” part of the money, but does that cleanse their record? What happens if they return what was stolen yet continue with the same practices later? Should they be celebrated, or should we demand both restitution and repentance?

This is why I believe restitution should never stand alone. It must be accompanied by repentance, reparation, and resolve. Imagine if public officials not only returned stolen funds but also added a penalty, as in biblical times. Imagine if those guilty of corruption were required to invest in community development programs—schools, hospitals, livelihood projects—as a form of reparation. Wouldn’t that send a stronger message than the usual wrist slaps we see today?

Beyond government, restitution is a principle we can apply in daily life. In barangays, disputes over land, debt, or property could be resolved not just by apology, but by making the injured party whole. In families, broken trust is restored not just by saying “sorry,” but by making concrete steps to rebuild confidence.

In the end, restitution without repentance is empty, and repentance without restitution is incomplete. The Bible teaches us both are necessary. To stop the cycle of corruption in our society, we must demand not only accountability but also transformation.

So I leave you with this challenge: What if our justice system, our communities, and even our churches embraced restitution as more than a legal process—but as a spiritual and moral obligation? Perhaps then we would not only see stolen wealth returned, but stolen dignity restored.

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 

09088877282/01-14-2026

OVERLAPS IN TREE PLANTING FUNCTIONS

 OVERLAPS IN TREE PLANTING FUNCTIONS

It is very clear in my mind that the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) should lead in our overall tree-planting programs. After all, reforestation and forest conservation are primarily environmental mandates. But here’s the twist: what if tree planting is done for business reasons and not simply for environmental ones?

Strictly speaking, there is no profit motive in planting trees solely for environmental reasons—except perhaps for secondary income streams such as carbon credits or debt-for-nature swaps. These can generate money, yes, but they are not always reliable or easily accessible for small communities or investors. On the other hand, planting trees for commercial purposes has a clear profit motive, and that could actually lead to more trees being planted. Isn’t it ironic that the pursuit of profit might actually serve the environment better than the pursuit of environmental goals alone?

Take agarwood, for example, one of the most expensive tree products in the world. Properly cultivated, it can provide high-value livelihoods for upland farmers, while still contributing to forest cover. Coffee, rubber, and even timber species like teak and mahogany also bring commercial returns. If communities can make money from trees, the incentive to protect and expand plantations naturally increases.

But here’s where things get complicated. If the DENR leads environmental tree planting, shouldn’t the Department of Agriculture (DA) lead commercial tree planting? Or should both agencies share jurisdiction, with clear divisions? Right now, overlaps in tree planting functions often create confusion, inefficiency, and even corruption. Remember the National Greening Program (NGP)? Billions were poured into it, but many observers say the results fell short due to mismanagement and ghost projects. Planting trees for “show” rather than survival was the norm in some areas.

Overlaps in tree planting functions also extend beyond DENR and DA. Local government units (LGUs), non-government organizations (NGOs), people’s organizations, and private corporations all have their own tree-planting initiatives. On the surface, this looks good—more people planting trees means more forests, right? But in practice, duplication wastes resources.

Here are common overlaps that occur:

• Site Selection: Multiple groups choose the same degraded areas, sometimes leading to redundant mapping and planting in unsuitable locations.

• Species Selection: One group promotes fast-growing exotics like gmelina or falcata, while another insists on indigenous trees. Both have valid points, but without coordination, we end up with conflicting goals.

• Community Engagement: Farmers and barangays get bombarded by multiple groups offering training, incentives, or planting programs—often with different conditions. This causes confusion, and sometimes, fatigue.

• Monitoring: Different funders and agencies have their own reporting systems, forcing local implementers to double or triple their paperwork.

• Funding: Multiple subsidy schemes may overlap, while some areas remain neglected.

• Policy Advocacy: Different organizations push similar reforms, but without unifying their voices.

The result? Wasted resources, fragmented data, and a tired public. Communities often disengage when they feel they are being used for photo opportunities rather than real, sustainable programs.

What’s the way forward? A master plan for reforestation that clearly distinguishes environmental, commercial, and energy-related tree planting. DENR should focus on ecological restoration, biodiversity conservation, and climate resilience. DA could spearhead commercial tree farming—coffee, cacao, agarwood, rubber, timber—using agroforestry systems that combine profit with ecological benefits. For energy trees like Jatropha and palm oil, perhaps the Department of Energy (DOE) should take the lead, in partnership with DA and DENR.

And let us not forget coordination at the ground level. Why not create a Shared GIS-based Tree Registry, showing who is planting what, where, and for what purpose? Barangay-level mapping could prevent duplication and foster collaboration. A Stakeholder Matrix updated quarterly would show which communities are engaged, and in what way. Even harmonized monitoring indicators would save everyone time.

The government could also encourage public-private partnerships in tree farming. For instance, corporations needing carbon offsets could invest in community-managed plantations of both commercial and native trees. Communities could earn both profit and protection for their lands, while corporations fulfill their sustainability pledges.

Ultimately, planting trees is not just about increasing green cover. It is about creating sustainable ecosystems—economic, ecological, and social. To do that, we need clarity in roles and coordination among agencies. Otherwise, overlaps will continue to sap resources, confuse communities, and limit the true potential of our tree-planting programs.

So, here’s my suggestion: let’s stop planting trees for photo ops and start planting trees for people, profit, and the planet—all at once. But only if DENR, DA, DOE, LGUs, NGOs, and the private sector can finally learn to work together. The forest cannot afford more bureaucratic turf wars.

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 

09088877282/01-13-2026

SHOULD WE TEACH COMPUTER PROGRAMMING TO SCHOOL CHILDREN?

 SHOULD WE TEACH COMPUTER PROGRAMMING TO SCHOOL CHILDREN?

That question might sound unusual to some, but in China, they are already teaching children as young as six years old not just basic computer programming, but artificial intelligence (AI) programming. Starting September 2025, it will even be mandatory across the country.

This is not an isolated project—it is national policy. China’s Ministry of Education has mandated that all primary and secondary students learn AI for at least eight hours a year. The program is tiered: younger kids explore AI in daily life, middle graders learn coding and automation, and older students tackle neural networks, data training, and even ethical debates. Tech giants like Alibaba, Baidu, and SenseTime are supporting this rollout with tools and platforms. In short, China is shaping its next generation not just to use technology but to create it.

Some observers fear this will raise a generation of “cyberwarriors.” Others argue that this is simply the logical next step in preparing for the digital age. What is clear is that China is not reacting to technological disruption—it is designing for it. That is the essence of anticipatory governance.

Now, let us look at ourselves. Here in the Philippines, a few private schools have already begun teaching Java and Python, but public schools are far behind, and AI programming is nowhere in sight. Unlike China, the idea has not even crossed the minds of most of our policymakers. The Department of Education (DepEd) is still wrestling with problems like teacher shortages, classroom deficits, and outdated curricula. And yet, can we afford not to even try?

We often say we want to be globally competitive. But can we achieve that if our students remain digital consumers while children in China, Singapore, and South Korea are becoming digital creators? Singapore, for example, has been embedding AI into its “Smart Nation” strategy, and the UAE will roll out AI learning from kindergarten by 2025. South Korea is also expanding AI teaching from high schools down to elementary levels. Even California has legislated the inclusion of AI concepts in K–12 education.

So where does that leave us? Do we simply wait until the digital divide between us and our neighbors becomes permanent? Or do we start, even modestly, by piloting AI education in a handful of public schools?

Of course, teaching AI programming is not just about adding a new subject. It requires upgraded hardware, better servers, stable internet, and even reliable electricity. Data centers for AI consume more power and water for cooling. These are real, systemic issues. But should we use them as excuses not to begin? After all, many of our schools already have basic ICT labs. Could we not start small—maybe barangay-level AI literacy hubs or modular programs integrated into STEM subjects—while gradually upgrading infrastructure?

Which agencies should lead this? DepEd will have to be at the center, but the Department of Information and Communications Technology (DICT) and the Department of Science and Technology (DOST) must be co-players. And yes, Congress will need to legislate frameworks to fund and sustain this initiative. China elevated it to the level of national policy. Why can’t we?

If we want to raise a generation that can compete in the AI-driven world, we must start preparing them now. Otherwise, we risk raising another generation left behind in the digital economy.

I am not saying that every Filipino child should grow up to be an AI engineer. But imagine the empowerment if even a portion of our youth could use AI to improve agriculture, predict typhoons, solve traffic problems, or innovate in small businesses. Imagine barangay-level AI applications for disaster preparedness or climate monitoring.

We always complain that our country is lagging behind. Well, here is one way to start catching up. Let’s begin the conversation seriously. Let’s push for a pilot program now, not ten years later. By then, the world will have moved on again, and we will still be stuck trying to catch up.

The choice is ours: will our children be passive users of imported apps, or will they be creators of the next generation of technologies? That depends on whether we act now.

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 

09088877282 01-12-2026

DOES GOD SPEAK TO NATIONS?

 DOES GOD SPEAK TO NATIONS?

That question sounds like a debate for theologians, but in truth it is not. Both the Bible and the Quran testify that God does speak to nations. What is really at stake is not whether God speaks, but whether nations listen—and what happens if they don’t.

We easily accept that God speaks to individuals. But when we speak of nations, it becomes a collective responsibility. In the Bible, Israel as a people was called to obedience, and entire kingdoms like Egypt or Babylon were addressed through prophets. In the Quran, God sent messengers to whole communities. Many indigenous traditions, too, believe that ancestral spirits and the divine guide tribes through nature, dreams, and rituals.

So if God indeed speaks to nations, what might He be saying to us in the Philippines?

Prophetic Voices Through History

If we look back, God’s voice often comes through moral leaders rather than thunder from the heavens. Gandhi in India, Martin Luther King Jr. in America, and even José Rizal in our own history served as prophetic voices—reminding nations of justice, dignity, and truth. They did not claim to be prophets in the biblical sense, but their call carried a spiritual urgency.

Could it be that God speaks to nations not just in holy texts, but also through such figures, through crises, or even through the groaning of creation?

Messages in Crisis

Wars, plagues, and environmental disasters have often been interpreted as wake-up calls. During the COVID-19 pandemic, many religious leaders worldwide reflected on whether this was a message for nations to slow down, reset priorities, and confront inequality. In our case, perhaps the repeated floods, landslides, and food insecurity are warnings about our abuse of the environment and neglect of rural communities.

The Biblical Framework

A verse often quoted in times of crisis is 2 Chronicles 7:14:
“If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.”

Notice the systemic pattern here: humility, prayer, seeking, repentance, then healing. This is not just about personal piety—it is a national feedback loop. If corruption is replaced with honesty, if greed gives way to stewardship, if violence bows to peace, the entire ecosystem of the nation benefits.

A Filipino Application

What might “national repentance” look like in our context?

• On corruption: Imagine if we truly turned away from this as a people. Would not our resources multiply for education, health, and infrastructure?

• On the environment: If we repented from decades of logging, mining, and pollution, could our rivers and forests heal—and in turn, sustain our food security?

• On governance: If our leaders humbled themselves before the people and sought justice rather than power, could we begin to see a more equitable society?

I dare say these are not just political reforms but moral ones. If God speaks to nations, then He speaks through these urgencies.

The Call for Collective Listening

The bigger challenge is listening. As individuals we may pray, but do we as a nation pause to reflect? Our national discourse is often drowned in noise—political bickering, celebrity scandals, or the next trending issue on social media. Yet perhaps God’s voice is in the quiet insistence of conscience, the cry of the poor, the lament of the environment, or the wisdom of our ancestors.

If so, then we need more than religious revivals—we need a reawakening of civic conscience. Repentance is not only about morality; it is also about governance, economics, and culture.

My Suggestion

Perhaps we should begin at the barangay level. Let communities practice humility in governance, stewardship of land and water, and dignity in livelihood. If transformation happens locally, it can ripple upward.

And yes, perhaps it is time to ask ourselves collectively: are we listening to God as a nation? Or have we closed our ears, waiting until disaster forces us to pay attention?

History shows that nations that ignore moral decay eventually collapse, whether they were ancient kingdoms or modern states. But those that repent, reform, and listen often find renewal.

So the question is not whether God speaks to nations. He does. The real question is—are we listening, Philippines?

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 

09088877282 01-11-2026