WESTERN Visayas has every reason to celebrate its impressive fisheries performance. With a fish sufficiency level of 117% and production rising from 52,415 metric tons to 59,786 metric tons in just one year as reported by this paper recently, the region is a model of abundance at a time when other parts of the country struggle with dwindling marine resources. Iloilo’s major landing sites — from Carles to Iloilo City’s fishing ports — continue to unload substantial volumes of bangus, tamodios, and bisugo, contributing to a robust local supply chain that feeds millions.
But the numbers, as encouraging as they are, tell only half the story. The danger lies in assuming that these gains mean our ecosystems are safe. That assumption would be a grave mistake.
For all the impressive figures, the Visayan Sea — the beating heart of Western Visayas’ fisheries — remains extremely vulnerable. Illegal, unreported, and unregulated (IUU) fishing still thrives in pockets of Iloilo, Capiz, and Negros Occidental. Mangroves continue to be cleared. Coral reefs remain exposed to damage. Seagrass beds, vital to juvenile fish, are still being destroyed by improper anchoring and coastal development.
Bureau of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources (BFAR) regional director Remia Aparri has repeatedly warned that sustainability is fragile. “If we lose these habitats, we lose our fish,” she stressed — a reminder that biological limits cannot be manipulated or ignored, despite statistical successes.
The recent mudflows and debris-laden floods in northern Iloilo and Negros — partly linked to upland degradation — offer a glimpse of how fragile the balance truly is. Marine ecosystems do not exist in isolation; damaged uplands eventually poison coastal fisheries. What appears as strong production today may mask deepening vulnerability beneath the surface.
The closed season now in effect in the Visayan Sea mirrors this fragility. If everything were stable, the region would not need to ban the catching of dumaa, sardinas, tabagak, bulaw, and alumaan for three months. The closure is scientific proof that spawning grounds need time to recover — and proof that despite 117% sufficiency, nature is under strain.
This is why Western Visayas must not mistake high numbers for long-term security. Fish output may rise year after year, but without healthy coral reefs, intact mangroves, and enforced fishing regulations, the upward trend can collapse just as quickly. Iloilo’s own history offers a warning: over the decades, rampant overfishing reduced what used to be massive sardine runs along northern Iloilo into mere seasonal occurrences. Production can decline quietly before the public realizes the losses are irreversible.
Government agencies, LGUs, and coastal communities must therefore treat the current gains as motivation — not a signal to relax. Enforcement must intensify, especially in known hotspots like Carles, Estancia, and northern Iloilo where dynamite fishing and night encroachment still occur. Habitat protection must be prioritized. Mangrove rehabilitation and reef protection cannot remain token projects. They must be continuous, science-based, and community-led.
Local governments must resist the temptation to greenlight unchecked coastal development — the kind that erodes shorelines, smothers seagrass beds, and destroys fish nurseries. And region must invest more aggressively in climate adaptation, recognizing that stronger typhoons, rising seas, and unpredictable weather threaten marine production far more than any illegal fisher.
Western Visayas’ thriving fisheries are not proof of invincibility; they are proof of what responsible stewardship can achieve. And they are a reminder that the real work — protecting habitats, enforcing laws, and nurturing fragile ecosystems — is far from over.
