NATIVE CHICKENS, ANYONE?

 NATIVE CHICKENS, ANYONE?

When was the last time you heard of a Filipino company—or a scientist—developing a local breed of any animal for purely local needs? I bet it doesn’t come up often. So when I read that Kustods Chicken Breeding Farm in South Cotabato claims to have developed their own “line” of native chickens, I stopped and paid attention. In fact, I believe what they have done isn’t just a “line” but arguably their own breed. And if that’s true, they deserve more than a mere pat on the back—they deserve recognition.

Why this matters

Our so-called “native” chickens in the Philippines are indeed longstanding local stocks—but not truly endemic breeds in the sense of distinct, formally developed genetic lines. As far as records show, none were developed fully by Filipino firms or institutions for commercial breeding in recent decades. A somewhat similar effort: former Agriculture Secretary and former North Cotabato governor Manny Piñol developed a line dubbed “Manok PNoy”, combining imported genetics with local blood, as early as 2013. 

So yes, Kustods’s claim is worth flagging: local innovation, local adaptation, local relevance. We should ask: Is this just marketing talk, or is it genuine breed development? If genuine, what are the implications?

What’s at stake

• Import dependence: We still import many commercial chicken breeds and pay for licensing or importation. Why? If we have locally developed, adapted native breeds, we save money, build local capacity.
  
  

• Food security & sovereignty: A breed developed locally, tailored to local climates, diseases, feed resources, smallholder setups, contributes directly to resilient food systems.
  
  

• Farmer livelihoods: Native chickens are valued for taste, cultural preference, free‐range adaptability. If a local breed can combine those advantages plus improved growth or productivity, farmers win.
  
  

What Kustods claims

According to available information:

• Their native chicken line can be harvested in just 7–8 weeks for meat production.
  
  

• Selective breeding gives choice in color and sex of chicks.
  
  

• Adapted for Philippine climate and smallholder conditions.
  
  

• Ideal for restaurants, meat vendors seeking the “native taste” but faster turnover.
  
  

If these claims hold up under independent verification, that is a step change. Traditional native chickens grow slowly (sometimes 3–4 months) and smaller in size. An accelerated native breed means faster turnover for farmers.

Questions I ask

• What exactly is the genetic basis? Has Kustods published data on growth rate, feed conversion ratio (FCR), mortality, disease resistance compared to commercial broilers or existing native stocks?
  
  

• Are these “native” chickens truly native (local gene pool) or hybrids of imported breeds plus local? Because that affects conservation of native genetics.
  
  

• Will this breed be made affordable for grassroots farmers and cooperatives, not just large operators or urban restaurants?
  
  

• How will the government support this? Should the Department of Agriculture (DA) or the Department of Science and Technology (DOST) step in to certify, propagate, and scale up such breeds?
  
  

• Will the feed formulations remain imported, or can this breed eventually thrive on locally‐sourced feeds (rice bran, copra meal, native forage) thus reducing cost?
  
  

Broader context: native chicken industry

Some data: According to DOST-PCAARRD, native chickens constitute about 46% of the chicken population in the country (~76 million heads) but face major challenges such as unstable supply of slaughter‐ready birds and high mortality (~40%). Native chicken are preferred for their distinct taste and lower fat content.

Also: the Agricultural Training Institute (ATI) has recently been training local specialists in native chicken production in Eastern Visayas. This suggests the government recognizes the value of native chicken, but the innovation gap remains.

Suggestions & pathways

• Government support: DA + DOST to provide certification, R&D support, seed stock distribution of new local breeds like Kustods’s.
  
  

• Farmer access: Ensure chicks are affordable, and that small farms/co-ops can access them. Offer financing/subsidies.
  
  

• Locally adapted feed: Develop feed formulations based on cheap local inputs (rice bran, copra meal, insects) such that the breed thrives without expensive imported feeds.
  
  

• Scaling & branding: Brand native chicken meat from these local breeds—“Philippine Upgraded Native Chicken”—and market to consumers who already prefer native taste, raising premium and farmer income.
  
  

• Research & data transparency: Publish performance metrics so farmers know what they’re getting (growth, FCR, resistance). Also ensure genetic diversity and not undue narrowing of the gene pool.

Yes, native chickens—anyone? Absolutely. If Kustods’s innovation is real, it’s exactly what we need: a Filipino-developed breed that combines the taste and value of native chicken with better production metrics for farmers.

We are not just talking about chickens. We’re talking about innovation, localized food systems, rural livelihoods, and sustainable agriculture. Let’s hope this is not an isolated story, but the beginning of a new wave of Filipino animal‐breeding initiatives—whether in poultry, goats, ducks or whatever.

And to the farmers, scientists, and entrepreneurs: here’s your challenge: How do we make this breed the norm, not the exception?How do we ensure it reaches every barangay? How do we make the Philippines not just a consumer or importer of animals and breeds, but a developer and exporter of its own agricultural genetics?

Native chickens? Yes—if done smart, they might just change the game.

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/04-05-2026

WHAT ARE VANADIUM REDOX FLOW BATTERIES?

 WHAT ARE VANADIUM REDOX FLOW BATTERIES?

Let’s get straight to it. If we are serious about transitioning to clean energy, and if we genuinely want reliable, long-duration storage (not just short bursts), then this question needs to be asked: Why isn’t the Vanadium Redox Flow Battery (VRFB) everywhere in the Philippines?

Because on paper, the benefits are clear. Because in practice, countless countries are already deploying them. And yet here at home, in the Philippines, we remain largely on the sidelines, waiting.

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What is a VRFB?

A vanadium redox flow battery stores energy in liquid electrolytes containing vanadium ions, housed in large storage tanks. Two separate tanks (anolyte and catholyte) pump electrolyte through a stack of cells where redox reactions occur—charge/discharge. 

Key characteristics:

• Energy storage (kWh) can scale by increasing tank volume; power (kW) by adding more cell stacks.
  
  

• Lifespan measured in decades: 20+ years, thousands upon thousands of cycles.
  
  

• Safety advantage: non-flammable aqueous electrolyte; minimal risk of thermal runaway.
  
  

In short: this is a battery built for stationary, grid-scale use—especially where renewable energy intermittency demands long-duration backup, not just quick bursts.

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Why should we care in the Philippines?

Because our energy future won’t be built on coal alone. Because we will need storage that can absorb solar from midday and deliver into the evening, or hold wind energy for when the breeze dies. And because our archipelago geography means many remote grids and islands where reliability is critical.

Here are issues for our context:

• Which government agency is responsible? Should the Department of Science and Technology (DOST) take the lead? Or the Department of Energy (DOE)? Or should it be a collaboration among them, perhaps with the Department of Trade and Industry (DTI) and the Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA) exploring overseas partnerships?
  
  

• Are we content to remain importers of the technology, or can we aim to locally assemble or even develop VRFBs (assuming we could import raw materials)?
  
  

• Do we have local vanadium resources? Unlikely large-scale, but could there be potential for strategic raw material sourcing or recycling?
  
  

• Should DTI or DFA already be contacting major VRFB manufacturers abroad (for technology transfer, investment, clusters)?
  
  

• How does this align with our energy transition goals and the mandate for universal access and resilience in a country prone to typhoons and grid disruption?
  
  

In fact, the DOST is already doing something: The Technological Institute of the Philippines (TIP), under DOST funding, is working on a battery energy storage system with its Advanced Batteries Center. That’s promising—but the question remains: will flow-batteries (VRFBs) be part of that pipeline, or will we default to lithium-ion because everyone else uses that?

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Why isn’t VRFB everywhere yet?

Let’s be realistic. For all the promise, there are clear hurdles:

1. High upfront cost
   Vanadium electrolyte, large tanks, pumps and stacks: they cost more initially than many lithium-ion systems.
   
   

2. Supply chain & material risk
   Vanadium is produced largely as a by-product of steel manufacturing in a few countries (notably China). That means supply volatility and geopolitical risk.
   
   

3. Market inertia
   Lithium-ion batteries have scale, manufacturing lines, investment, precedent. VRFBs are less familiar to investors and utilities in many markets.
   
   

4. Technical limitations
   Energy density is low compared to lithium-ion (~20–30 Wh/kg) making them unsuitable for mobile applications (EVs) or where space is tight. Also: to maintain electrolytes and manage temperature ranges requires care.
   
   

5. Policy & incentive lag
   In many jurisdictions, incentives favor short-duration storage or lithium-ion systems. Long-duration technologies like VRFBs are just now getting policy attention.
   
   

It adds up to: the technology is excellent for certain use-cases (grid, renewables, long-duration) but doesn’t yet fit the mass-market narrative. Until it does, uptake remains moderate.

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What can the Philippines do now?

Here are suggestions:

• Create a national roadmap that explicitly recognizes long-duration storage technologies (like VRFBs) in our renewable energy targets.
  
  

• Assign coordinating responsibility: DOST (R&D), DOE (policy & infrastructure), DTI (industry and manufacturing) should collaborate. A “VRFB Consortium” could be formed to link universities, industry, and government agencies.
  
  

• Catalyze pilot projects: Deploy one or two multi-MW VRFB installations in island-grids (e.g., Visayas or Mindanao micro-grids) to demonstrate benefits and build familiarity.
  
  

• Encourage local manufacture/assembly: Even if we import core stacks, assembling local electrolyte tanks, piping, monitoring, maintenance might build a domestic industry.
  
  

• Explore raw material strategy: While large-scale vanadium mining may not be realistic for now, recycling vanadium from used steel or co-products could be explored; monitor global supply chains.
  
  

• Update procurement frameworks: Shift public tendering for storage systems away from “all energy storage is lithium-ion” to “suitable storage for duration, grid need, cost-life cycle”.
  
  

• Promote public-private partnerships: Local businesses can sponsor pilot VRFBs as part of CSR/energy resilience programs—especially industrial estates, eco-zones, resort islands.
  
  

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So: what are vanadium redox flow batteries? They’re a genuine contender for the next phase of energy storage—especially when we stop thinking “battery = short-term” and start thinking “storage = resilience, multi-hour, decade-long service”. The technology is proven, safe, scalable, and long-lived.

But the question remains: why isn’t it everywhere yet? Because cost, supply chain, market familiarity and policy lag all stand in the way.

For the Philippines, this is both a challenge and an opportunity. We can either remain on the sidelines and import energy-storage solutions (again), or we can step up, set a national strategy, pilot the technology, and build local capacity. The alternative is that while others modernize their grids, we get stuck with yesterday’s lithium-ion solutions when we’ll need tomorrow’s long-duration capabilities.

If our energy future is to be resilient, decarbonized, and responsive—not only for Metro Manila but for every island and barangay—then VRFBs deserve a seat at the table. And we should ask ourselves: when will the Philippines stop watching and start implementing?

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/04-04-2026

WHAT IF THE AMBULANCE DOES NOT COME?

 WHAT IF THE AMBULANCE DOES NOT COME?

To be honest, I meant that question rhetorically. It’s not meant to be answered because the answer is already painfully obvious. What if the ambulance does not come? It often doesn’t.

Let’s not sugarcoat it. Based on my own estimate, around half of all local government units (LGUs) in the Philippines do not have real, fully equipped ambulances. And no, those so-called Patient Transport Vehicles (PTVs) don’t count. A PTV is not an ambulance. It’s a glorified van—useful for transferring patients, yes, but not for saving lives in an emergency.

A true ambulance carries oxygen tanks, defibrillators, suction units, and stretchers—and, more importantly, it’s staffed by certified Emergency Medical Technicians (EMTs) trained to administer life support while en route to the hospital. Many PTVs have none of these. In fact, many “ambulances” used by LGUs don’t even have EMTs on board.

That brings us to the inconvenient truth: if you dial 911 right now for an ambulance, there’s at least a 50% chance that no real ambulance will arrive. You might get a police response, or a fire truck, but not an emergency medical vehicle.

Where are the ambulances?

It’s tempting to blame the usual culprit—money. But a fully equipped basic life support (BLS) ambulance costs only about ₱1.5 million (for a Toyota Hiace configuration). Even an advanced life support (ALS) unit with ventilators and monitors might cost ₱4 to ₱5 million—still affordable even for fifth-class municipalities with a sense of priority.

And that’s the issue: priority.

Some mayors will tell you they’re just “waiting for the national government” to send them one, as if the Department of Health or PCSO were Santa Claus. Meanwhile, people die in transit, or worse, never make it to the hospital at all.

According to the Department of Health, as of 2025, many LGUs still lack real ambulances. What they have instead are PTVs distributed under national programs—like the ₱2-billion initiative announced by President Ferdinand Marcos Jr. to deploy 1,000 PTVs nationwide. In July 2025 alone, 387 PTVs were handed out in Luzon. That’s good, but it’s not the same thing as having an emergency-ready ambulance.

The distinction matters. Under DOH Administrative Order 2010-0003, ambulances are defined as emergency response vehicles equipped for pre-hospital care. PTVs, under DOTr Administrative Order 2024-001, are non-emergency transport vehicles. They cannot use sirens, cannot bypass traffic, and often lack EMTs. They move patients, not save them.

So again, I ask: what if the ambulance does not come?

Beyond vehicles: systems and people

The problem isn’t just about vehicles—it’s about systems. Even if every LGU had one ambulance, we would still face challenges: untrained crews, lack of dispatch coordination, and hospitals that aren’t ready for incoming emergencies.

An effective emergency response requires a holistic ecosystem—vehicles, equipment, trained personnel, dispatch systems, and hospital readiness. That’s what separates a functioning emergency medical service from a fleet of vans with stickers saying “AMBULANCE.”

Shouldn’t this be a public safety issue, not just a health concern? The line between saving a life and losing one is often measured in minutes. Universal healthcare doesn’t mean much if the patient can’t even reach the hospital in time.

If no ambulance comes...

Let’s be practical. If you find yourself in an emergency where no ambulance responds, there are things you can do:

1. Call again and escalate. Dial 911, but also contact your barangay health center, barangay hall, or the nearest hospital. Use multiple phones or ask neighbors to call too.
   
   

2. Mobilize local transport. Use private vehicles, tricycles, or barangay patrol cars. In critical cases, speed trumps formality.
   
   

3. Apply first aid. Barangay health workers should know CPR, bleeding control, and basic stabilization.
   
   

4. Alert hospitals. Call the emergency room before you arrive so they can prepare to receive the patient.
   
   

But these are stopgap measures. They shouldn’t be the default.

Community-based solutions

Why not organize Barangay Emergency Response Teams (BERTs)—trained volunteers with radios, first aid kits, and clear protocols? Barangays can even pool ambulances across clusters, sharing maintenance and dispatch. Local businesses could also sponsor ambulances as part of their corporate social responsibility (CSR).

Some LGUs could pilot AI-powered dispatch systems that automatically notify nearby responders through text alerts—using existing mobile networks, not fancy apps. And, as I’ve written before, we could even explore blockchain to log emergency calls, ambulance dispatch times, and hospital arrivals to ensure transparency and accountability.

A call for urgency

There are 1,715 LGUs in the Philippines today. Even if half of them had real ambulances, that still means hundreds of municipalities where emergencies are left to improvisation.

So here’s my question for local leaders:
If you can buy SUVs for official use, or fund concerts and festivals, why not buy one fully equipped ambulance?

Lives depend on it.

Ambulance services should not be a luxury for the rich or an act of charity from the national government. They are a basic right under the promise of universal healthcare and public safety. Until every barangay, every town, and every city has at least one real ambulance—staffed, equipped, and ready to respond—our system remains incomplete.

So again I ask, and I ask it not for rhetorical effect this time—
What if the ambulance does not come?

Because if it doesn’t, someone you love might never make it to the hospital. And that’s a question no one should ever have to answer.

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/04-03-2026