senseneres

Wednesday, February 25, 2026

ORGANIZING AGAINST POVERTY

The idea of organizing against poverty is not new—but what if we could finally do it right? What if all the government agencies, private organizations, and civic groups now working separately could come together, not under one new bureaucracy, but as a united front—a truly integrated effort to help poor Filipino families rise above poverty through employment and entrepreneurship?

According to the Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA), a family of five must earn at least ₱12,030 per month to escape poverty. That’s only ₱401 per day per family, or just ₱80.20 per person—barely enough to buy a modest meal, much less pay for utilities, rent, or school expenses. These numbers tell us that poverty in the Philippines isn’t merely about hunger—it’s about the absence of sustainable livelihoods.

A UNITED FRONT, NOT A NEW AGENCY

The concept of a “united front” against poverty doesn’t require the creation of yet another office with another acronym. We already have enough of those. What we need is coordination—a way to make the right hand know what the left hand is doing.

The Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD) runs the Sustainable Livelihood Program (SLP), focusing on microenterprise and employment for poor households and the Ayuda Para sa Kapos ang Kita (AKAP) Program. The Department of Labor and Employment (DOLE) offers livelihood starter kits through its Department of Labor and Employment’s Integrated Livelihood and Emergency Employment Program (DILEEP) program and the Tulong Panghanapbuhay sa Ating Disadvantaged/Displaced Workers (TUPAD) program. TESDA provides training and certification. The Department of Agriculture (DA) supports farmers through inputs, credit, and market access. The Department of Trade and Industry (DTI) promotes MSME growth, packaging, and marketing. Even the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) runs livelihood programs tied to forestry and ecotourism.

But where is the integration? Is there anyone ensuring that a family trained by TESDA also gets product marketing help from DTI or a financing link through DSWD’s microenterprise fund?

DO WE NEED A “LIVELIHOOD CZAR”?

Some have suggested appointing a “livelihood czar”—a central figure tasked with weaving together all these scattered efforts. It’s not a bad idea. We already have housing and urban poor “czars,” so why not one for livelihood?

Other countries have done something similar, albeit under different names. In India, the Minister of Rural Development oversees vast livelihood programs like the Deen Dayal Antyodaya Yojana. In Indonesia, a Coordinating Minister supervises human development and poverty reduction. In Malaysia, a Minister for Entrepreneur Development integrates cooperative and MSME support.

So why can’t the Philippines have one person who is directly accountable for reducing poverty through employment and enterprise?

LIVELIHOOD IS NOT WELFARE

Livelihood is not about giving away starter kits and hoping for the best. It’s about helping people earn their way out of poverty. That means sustained access to markets, mentorship, and support systems—not just one-time assistance.

I have long argued that livelihood should be treated as an economic strategy, not merely a social welfare function. Poverty is an economic problem, not just a social one. It is caused by the absence of income-generating opportunities and the lack of integration between government services that could create them.

Imagine if we could align TESDA’s training programs with DTI’s MSME development, DA’s agricultural value chains, and DOLE’s employment generation schemes, all linked through DSWD’s poverty targeting system. That would be a genuine anti-poverty architecture—one that empowers instead of perpetuating dependency.

INTEGRATION AT THE BARANGAY LEVEL

The best place to integrate these programs is not only in Metro Manila, but in all barangays nationwide. Every barangay could have a Livelihood Integration Council—a local body linking the efforts of national agencies, LGUs, cooperatives, and private groups. This could function as a “one-stop shop” where people can access training, financing, marketing, and employment information all in one place.

The private sector, NGOs, and cooperatives could also play key roles. Microfinance institutions can offer credit; universities can provide business incubation; and cooperatives can give access to markets.

BEYOND AID: BUILDING DIGNITY

Poverty is not just about the absence of money. It’s about the absence of dignity. When we help the poor only through aid, we reinforce dependency. But when we help them build livelihoods, we restore dignity and self-respect.

Every peso spent on welfare should have a clear path toward work or enterprise. Every livelihood program should have measurable outcomes—jobs created, businesses sustained, and incomes increased. Yet, how many government programs today can show that data? Who monitors the long-term results of livelihood interventions?

MY SUGGESTION

Let us organize against poverty—not by creating another agency, but by creating a movement. A national movement for integrated livelihood, anchored in every barangay, coordinated across all agencies, and supported by both government and civil society.

In this movement, livelihood is not a project—it’s a right. Employment is not a favor—it’s an obligation of society. And escaping poverty is not just a personal struggle—it’s a collective mission.

If we can organize for elections, why can’t we organize for livelihoods?

After all, nation-building begins when every Filipino can stand on his own feet—with work, with dignity, and with hope.

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

09088877282/02-26-2026

Tuesday, February 24, 2026

SAVING THE VISAYAN LEOPARD CAT

What’s bigger than your house cat but smaller than a tiger? What carries the name “leopard” yet is no leopard at all? Meet the elusive, beautifully spotted forest feline that rightly deserves front-page attention: the Visayan leopard cat (scientific name Prionailurus bengalensis rabori).

Endemic to the Philippines, it can only be found—if one is lucky and forests remain—on the islands of Panay and Negros. It has close relatives in Borneo and Sumatra, yet this Visayan version is uniquely ours.

The good news is: we have a native wild cat that’s part of our natural heritage.
The bad news is: it’s under threat—all but missing the data we need to save it properly.

What do we actually know?

This cat is about the size of a larger house cat: agile, slender, alert. Its coat is dark ochre to buffy fawn, adorned with large dark spots. Its skull is narrower than its Sumatran or Bornean cousins. It lives mostly in remaining forest fragments on Panay and Negros, and even in sugar-cane fields where forest has been cleared.

But here’s a wrench: we do not have reliable, recent population numbers for how many individuals remain in the wild or captivity. One source says the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) listing lacks a total population size. Another indicates it was listed as “vulnerable” in 2008, with a decreasing trend. Without those baseline numbers, how can we define clear conservation targets, how many breeding pairs we need, or whether a captive breeding program can even start safely?

We have questions—and we should.

Do we have enough breeding pairs in the wild (or in captivity) to maintain genetic health?
Are local conservation units equipped and resourced to track it properly?
Have we set clear targets for new births, territory restoration, population growth?
Should oversight be only by the Biodiversity Management Bureau (BMB) under Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR), or should there be stronger linkage with higher-education institutions (for research) and private sector or NGOs (for funding, public awareness)?
Which local government units (LGUs), NGOs, private entities should be mobilised and empowered?

What’s happening now?

There are conservation efforts:

Rescues: Juvenile cats have been rescued in places like Talisay City, Negros Occidental.
Protected areas and captive-conservation: For example, the Mariit Wildlife and Conservation Park in Lambunao, Iloilo (Panay) houses five Visayan leopard cats.
Private recognition: A resort (KGM Resorts) has highlighted the species in its blog, indicating private-sector interest.

These are commendable. But we must ask: is that enough? Are resources sufficient? Are efforts coordinated across LGUs, DENR/BMB, academia, private sector and community stakeholders?

What can be done — suggestions for action

Establish a baseline survey: Funded by DENR/BMB with university partners (e.g., University of the Philippines College of Veterinary Medicine, or local veterinary/biology faculties) to determine current numbers, sex/age structure, territory size, threats.
Develop clear conservation targets: For example, “breed X individuals within Y years”, “restore Z hectares of forest in Panay/Negros”, “establish corridors between remnant patches”. Without targets, we cannot measure success.
Mobilise stakeholder network:

LGUs in Panay and Negros: support habitat protection, local awareness campaigns.
Private entities like KGM Resorts: recognition + financial support—for example adopt-a-pair programmes, corporate-sponsored habitat restoration.
NGOs: empower local biodiversity groups to conduct monitoring, community outreach.
Academia and DOST (Department of Science and Technology): studies on genetics, breeding‐behavior, veterinary needs, habitat modelling.

Integrated awareness campaign:

Could the Philippine Postal Corporation feature the Visayan leopard cat on a stamp? Perhaps the Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas could use its image on banknotes or commemorative coins. This helps build national pride and awareness.
School curricula: include modules on endemic species like this cat, its role in ecosystems (rodent control, indicator species) and why its survival matters.

Community-based conservation and sustainable livelihoods: Involve barangays living near forest fragments. For example, ecotourism is tied to forest trails with real time watching, native tree nurseries, rodent-control services (since the cats help farmers naturally). The cats become allies, not pests.
Legal enforcement and habitat protection: Ensure wildlife protection laws (e.g., RA 9147) are enforced; strengthen protected-area management; halt illegal logging and land conversion in key forest patches. For example, on Panay and Negros forest loss has been devastating (90-95% of natural habitat reportedly gone) so habitat restoration is urgent.

My reflections and call to action

It pains me to write this, because the picture is sobering. We have an endemic wild cat, beautiful and ecologically important, and yet its survival is precarious. The lack of concrete data is alarming: how many are left? Can we ensure genetic diversity? Are there enough in captivity to breed? Do we even know where they roam? Without answering these, conservation is a shot in the dark.

This should not be a project only for wildlife specialists. Protecting the Visayan leopard cat should be a whole-of-nation effort: government, private sector, academia, local communities—everyone has a part. Time is ticking.

To the LGUs of Panay and Negros: you are guardians of this cat’s last homes. To the DENR/BMB: you hold the mandate—but do you hold the resources and coordination power? To our universities and DOST: study this cat, design the breeding programme, monitor genetic health, train our conservation workforce. To our private firms and individuals: adopt a pair, restore a forest patch, raise awareness in your networks.

And to all Filipinos: imagine a future where our children and grandchildren know wild Visayan forests—and the maral still prowls there. A future where our endemic cat still plays its natural role—rodent control, ecosystem balance—rather than being just a footnote in extinction reports.

Let’s shine the spotlight on the Visayan leopard cat—not just to save it, but to save its forest home and in so doing, ourselves. Because when we lose a species like this, we lose part of our identity. Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

09088877282/02-25-2026

Monday, February 23, 2026

THAILAND IS ERADICATING INVASIVE TILAPIA SPECIES

While we are still arguing whether or not to eradicate invasive tilapia species, Thailand has already gone ahead and done it. That makes me wonder: what does Thailand know that we do not know? And what does Thailand have that we do not have?

Their dilemma is not very different from ours. On one hand, many people in Thailand—and here in the Philippines—rely on tilapia farming for their livelihood. On the other hand, tilapia are notorious for destroying biodiversity, devouring the eggs and fingerlings of native or endemic species. The conflict between ecological protection and economic necessity makes this a political issue as much as it is an environmental one.

In Thailand’s case, they are dealing specifically with the blackfin tilapia (Sarotherodon melanotheron), a species native to West Africa that was discovered in Thai waters only in 2010 but has since spread to 19 provinces. Scientists there say that a single female can produce up to 500 fry at a time—imagine that level of reproduction in an open river system! Since 2018, the species has rapidly multiplied, threatening not only natural ecosystems but also Thailand’s own aquaculture industry.

Instead of endless debates, Thailand chose action. Their government launched a massive campaign to eradicate the invasive fish—through the simplest and most practical method of all: eat them. They pay 15 baht per kilogram (around ₱24) for every blackfin tilapia caught, and since February 2024, more than 1.3 million kilograms have been collected. To make this possible, they opened 75 marketplaces nationwide where people can sell the caught fish. Restaurants have even started adding “invasive tilapia” dishes to their menus.

That’s what I call turning a crisis into an opportunity.

They are also using biological control, introducing predatory fish that can help naturally reduce the tilapia population. In the longer term, Thai scientists are developing genetically modified strains that will produce sterile offspring—a high-tech solution that we could learn from.

But make no mistake: the problem has been costly. The invasion has caused an estimated 10 billion baht (about ₱16.3 billion) in damage to Thailand’s fisheries and ecosystems. In fact, a class-action lawsuit has been filed against Charoen Pokphand Foods, one of Thailand’s largest agribusiness firms, alleging that its operations contributed to the spread of the invasive species. That case alone should serve as a warning to us about corporate accountability in environmental management.

Here in the Philippines, tilapia (especially Oreochromis niloticus, or Nile tilapia) has long been one of our top aquaculture products. BFAR reports show that we produce over 300,000 metric tons annually—feeding millions and sustaining thousands of small farmers. Tilapia is cheap, fast-growing, and resilient. But therein lies the danger: what happens when those very traits turn destructive in the wild?

I am not taking sides in this issue. I am simply calling upon our government to conduct serious, science-based studies on whether to ban or regulate invasive species. We need to know the ecological and economic consequences of both actions. And if we decide to keep farming tilapia, we must ensure that they do not escape into rivers, lakes, and estuaries where they can outcompete native species.

In the meantime, I would advocate for growing native and endemic fish such as bangus (milkfish) and maliputo. These are part of our natural aquatic heritage and should be promoted both for conservation and commerce.

At the same time, I strongly suggest we already ban invasive species that have no economic value, such as janitor fish and knife fish, which have infested the Pasig River and Laguna de Bay. These species offer no benefit to our fisheries and only worsen ecological imbalance.

I know that BFAR is doing something about invasive species management, but it would help if the bureau were more transparent and proactive in reporting its accomplishments. The public deserves to know what progress is being made.

We should also close our borders to the importation of fingerlings and breeder stocks of invasive species—before another “tilapia problem” happens again. And while we’re at it, I’d like to ask: do we even have the technology to distinguish between our native hito (catfish) and the African catfish? If we don’t, then we may end up banning our own native species by mistake.

And what about cream dory or pangasius? This species from the Mekong River has become a popular local product, and many Filipino farmers are earning well from it. But has anyone studied its long-term effect on our biodiversity?

Perhaps the Biodiversity Management Bureau (BMB) could take the lead in addressing these questions. But if we expect them to do more, we should also give them more funding. After all, the price of ecological ignorance is far greater than the cost of research.

Thailand’s example teaches us that decisive, science-based action can make a difference. They are not waiting for consensus—they are protecting their ecosystems before it’s too late. The Philippines, with its rich aquatic diversity, cannot afford to lag behind.

The question now is: do we have the political will to act—or will we keep debating while our rivers slowly lose their native life?

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

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com

09088877282/02-24-2026