It is one thing to read about the threats facing small-scale fishers; it is another to sit beside them, listen to their stories, and feel the quiet urgency in their words. Last Saturday, May 31, I had the privilege of attending the “Atin ang Kinse” forum at the UP Visayas Auditorium in Iloilo City. I was sent by our university, the Iloilo State University of Fisheries Science and Technology (ISUFST), along with my colleagues from the College of Fisheries and Aquatic Sciences (CFAS)—Dr. Jescel Bito-onon and Associate Professor Rother Gaudiel. Sharing the same round table with us were Dr. Harold Monteclaro and Dr. Yasmin Primavera-Tirol, current and former deans of UPV’s College of Fisheries and Ocean Sciences. In that room—filled with marine scientists, policy experts, fisherfolk leaders, artisanal fishers, and community advocates—we were not just attendees of an academic event. We were witnesses to a national hybrid gathering that felt like both a homecoming and a frontline.
What stood out was not just the data, though Dr. Wilfredo Campos’ presentation made the science speak volumes. It was the simplicity of the messages that echoed through the hall: protect the 15-kilometer municipal waters. Keep them for the fishers who depend on them. The logic was clear. As Dr. Campos emphasized, these waters are not empty, underutilized spaces waiting for commercial expansion—they are already overfished, and they are the last line of defense for many coastal families. The proposed entry of large-scale fishing vessels into these zones, now legitimized by a controversial court ruling, is not just a policy shift. It is a redrawing of survival lines.
What struck me most during the open forum was a fisherwoman from Ajuy who said, “Pag nawala ang kinse, wala na kaming babalikan.” It was not dramatic. It was plain truth. The 15 kilometers are not just coordinates on a map—they are cultural lifelines, inherited from generations who learned to read tides like textbooks. If these waters are opened to commercial vessels, equipped with sonar, nets the size of chapels, and financial capital to spare, small boats will not stand a chance. No law of physics allows a paddle to outpace a propeller.
And yet, it is not only a question of might. It is also one of rights. As pointed out by Atty. Rose-Liza Eisma-Osorio of Oceana Philippines, the Constitution is not ambiguous: municipal waters are for municipal fishers. The 1987 Constitution, Article XIII, Section 7, guarantees the preferential rights of subsistence fishers. RA 8550, amended by RA 10654, affirms it again. What we are seeing is not just a legal oversight—it is a moral misalignment. When laws are left unenforced, or worse, quietly reversed, those who have the least often pay the highest price.
Fisherfolk poverty is not news. According to the PSA, fishers remain the second poorest sector in the country, with a poverty incidence of 27.4 percent. But what stings is how preventable it is. For decades, small-scale fisheries have been the backbone of our food security. They contributed 39 percent of the total value of fisheries production in 2022, often with outdated boats and uncertain weather. And yet, they are now being asked to compete with commercial giants for the same marine space? It is like sending a jeepney to a drag race and pretending the contest is fair.
As the forum continues, I remember the ISUFST’s position paper we drafted and released last February. It was firm but grounded: uphold the law, protect municipal waters, and center the voices of coastal communities in policymaking. We, as the country’s only fisheries university, are not neutral in this fight. Our students, many of whom come from fishing families, cannot afford to be neutral either. To teach sustainability while turning a blind eye to the systematic displacement of small fishers is academic hypocrisy. Our role is not only to study the sea—it is to stand with those who live by it.
I left the forum thinking about the silent cost of policy. The Supreme Court decision allowing commercial vessels within the 15-kilometer zone, following a lower court ruling, may appear as a technical victory for commercial fishing firms. But its consequences are deeply human. According to a study cited by Dr. Campos, 90 percent of municipal waters are deeper than seven fathoms—the new benchmark for commercial entry. This means nearly the entire municipal area could be exploited, leaving only the shallowest waters for small fishers, or as one speaker put it, “parang palanggana na lang ang matitira.”
This ruling did not come out of nowhere. It came from years of erosion—of legal enforcement, of political will, of attention to the margins. But if the “Atin ang Kinse” forum taught me anything, it is that resistance is also built in layers. TBTI Philippines, with its roots in UP Visayas and global partnerships, has been compiling studies, building alliances, and advocating tirelessly for small-scale fishers. This forum was not an isolated protest. It was a coordinated stand. A convergence of science, policy, community memory, and lived experience.
The path forward is difficult, but it is not hopeless. The Department of Agriculture-BFAR has filed a motion for reconsideration. More importantly, communities are organizing. The Diocese of Bacolod has released a pastoral statement in support of fisherfolk. Local governments and state universities are expressing concern. The hope is that momentum builds, not fades. And it must. Because this is not just a fisheries issue. It is a test of national coherence. Can we still protect what our laws say we must? Can we still listen to the small voices before they are drowned out by the hum of steel boats?
To the untrained eye, the 15-kilometer line may appear arbitrary. But after hearing the stories, seeing the faces, and understanding the stakes, I know it is sacred. Not because of mythology, but because of memory. Because of meals provided, tuition paid, and communities anchored. It is not just a line on water—it is a promise on which so many lives rest.
As we continue to reflect on the National Fisherfolk’s Day, let us not just thank fishers for their service. Let us act in ways that honor their dignity. The boats may be small, but the justice they are asking for is immense. Let us be wise enough to see that keeping the kinse for them is not charity—it is clarity, it is coexistence. And perhaps, that is what sustainability truly means: to choose and fight for the long view, even when the tide pulls the other way.
Doc H fondly describes himself as a “student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.
