Marine fishing in the Philippines is more than an industry; it is a way of life. With 7,100 islands, the Philippines has the world’s longest discontinuous coastline. | Photo via Wikimedia Commons
Long before global headlines began tracking tensions in the West Philippine Sea, Mang Dionisio and his family were already navigating those same waters. For generations, they fished the rich shoals near Panatag (Scarborough) Shoal and the surrounding reefs – small wooden bancas, early-morning departures, nets cast in hopes of a catch to feed their children and keep their homes afloat.
Now in his sixties, Mang Dionisio rises in the wee hours of the morning with two of his adult children and a handful of townsfolk fishermen. They leave under the cover of darkness – “for safety,” they say – and row toward the fishing grounds they have long considered their home. But these days, the return is never guaranteed.
The seas they know, the nets they cast are shadowed by the possibility of being blocked, harassed, intimidated – sometimes worse – being capsized like what happened not too long ago – because on a geopolitical map, theirs is not just a fishing trip: it is a mission of survival in the highly contested waters.
When Mang Dionisio’s boat moves into the grey light of dawn, he knows the hazards: rough waves, bad weather, empty catches. But he also knows another hazard now.
In recent months and years, multiple reports revealed how boats from the China Coast Guard (CCG) and affiliated civilian or militia-manned vessels have intercepted, blocked, or driven away Filipino fishing vessels in the very zones over which the Philippines claims exclusive rights.
One appalling fact: in January, a scientific survey by the Philippine Bureau of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources was suspended after two of its inflatable boats came under “aggressive maneuvers” by CCG vessels and a helicopter near the sandbars known as Sandy Cay.
Just recently, on Oct. 12, the world witnessed yet another escalation: a CCG vessel deployed a high-pressure water cannon and, as claimed by Philippine authorities, rammed the stern of a Filipino fisheries-support vessel anchored near Pag-asa (Thitu) Island in the disputed sea. Minor structural damage, no injuries yet – but again, a stark reminder of the risks that ordinary fishermen face.
Mang Dionisio knows these stories. He hears them on the radio. He sees other fishermen return home defeated by wind and water, sometimes by fear. There have been occasions when he and co-fishers considered turning back even before setting nets, because CCG vessels had appeared on the horizon, engines idling, lights flashing. Stories of “You cannot fish here!” by horn blasts, threats, intimidation – these are not hyperbole. They are part of daily life.
Mang Dionisio not only catches fish, but he also fishes under pressure. His nets may come back full of sustenance or full of nothing. His efforts could mean profits or losses for his family. His boat may avoid confrontation – or may not.
Yet he persists because the sea is his home. Because the catch feeds his grandchildren. And because not going means someone else loses all the more.
One of the greatest ironies of the West Philippine Sea dispute is when some politicians who are somehow completely oblivious to the realities our fishermen face every single day say we should not assert our sovereignty because we are no match for China’s military might. Really? Why don’t they go and see for themselves the serious predicament that often confronts humble fishermen like Mang Dionisio? They have no battleships, no fighter jets, no access to political megaphones. Their only weapon is the net. Their stake is the life of their family. Their burden is geopolitical dynamics far beyond their choosing.
“Like Mang Dionisio, thousands of Filipino fishermen who sail into contested waters every night are more than fishing folk. They are silent sentinels of our sovereignty. Every haul they bring back tells a story – of risk, of resilience, of defiance.”
But they matter. They embody two essential truths: first, that sovereignty is not just lines on a map – it is the fundamental right of people to fish, sail, live, and return home. Second, that every time a fisherman is blocked, driven away, or loses his catch because of harassment, the country is also diminished.
The Philippine Maritime Zones Act (Republic Act 12064), signed in November 2024, reiterated the country’s rights to territorial sea, contiguous zone, exclusive economic zone (EEZ), and continental shelf in line with the 1982 United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. The 2016 arbitral ruling that invalidated much of China’s nine-dash-line claims remains the legal anchor. Yet enforcement on the water is another matter. Diplomacy and law often proceed slowly. Meanwhile, the nets remain empty, and the fishermen face political and literal waves.
Manila has also adopted what is known as a “transparency initiative,” showing photos, videos, and incident affidavits, citing harassment cases in the West Philippine Sea, to mobilize public awareness and the international community. Part of that initiative is to document and highlight the kinds of encounters Mang Dionisio and his peers endure.
Like Mang Dionisio, thousands of Filipino fishermen who sail into contested waters every night are more than fishing folk. They are silent sentinels of our sovereignty. Every haul they bring back tells a story – of risk, of resilience, of defiance. When a foreign ship aims its water cannon or rams a stern, it is not just a vessel in danger – it is the Filipino fisherman, his family, his livelihood, and our national dignity at stake.
As diplomats debate and treaties wind their way through parliaments and courts, let us not forget that the sea is defended first by home-made boats and nets, and by men and women unwilling to let their fishing grounds be empty and unclaimed, risking their lives every single day to make a living.
Filipino fishermen fish for survival – but ultimately end up defending our country’s dignity.
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