WHEN the Visayan Sea closed season begins each November, the policy is often framed in terms of science, sustainability, and long-term ecological gain. All of these are essential. But there is another reality that must never be ignored: the closed season is borne most heavily by the small fisherfolk of Western Visayas — the very people who rely on daily catch to feed their families and sustain their communities.
In Iloilo, Capiz, Negros Occidental, and even Masbate — areas that the Bureau of Fisheries and Aquatic Resources (BFAR) itself identifies as “most affected” — thousands of municipal fishers will spend the next three months navigating an economic slowdown. Species such as Dumaa, Sardinas, Tabagak, Bulaw, and Alumaan are off-limits until February 15, 2026. And for subsistence fishers, these are livelihood anchors.
BFAR regional director Remia Aparri acknowledges this strain, even as she underscores the necessity of the annual ban. “We must allow the sea to rest,” she said, emphasizing that the ecological clock cannot be reset without temporary sacrifice. She is right. But it is equally true that the burden of that sacrifice falls unevenly.
Municipal fishers — already competing with bigger vessels, rising fuel costs, unpredictable weather, and the growing threat of illegal fishing — must somehow tighten belts further. Many do not have savings. Many cannot shift to alternative livelihoods at will. And unlike commercial operators, they cannot simply move to deeper waters beyond the closed zones. Their limitations are geographical, physical, and financial.
This is where government must step in decisively. It is not enough to enforce a closed season; the closed season must be humane.
Western Visayas has demonstrated strong fisheries performance — posting a 117% sufficiency level and increased output from 52,415 to 59,786 metric tons. But these numbers mean little to a small fisher from Carles or Estancia who will struggle to make ends meet during the ban. For communities still recovering from years of economic shocks, rising cost of living, and repeated typhoon losses, the closed season can feel like yet another blow.
Government intervention must therefore go beyond patrols and penalties. Support must be felt at the shoreline.
This includes short-term financial relief for affected fishers, fuel subsidies, expanded access to cash-for-work programs, and livelihood grants that do not require complex paperwork or political endorsement. Cold-storage cooperatives, seaweed farming kits, post-harvest training, and community aquaculture are not luxuries — they are necessities if the closed season is to be fair and survivable.
Just as important, local governments must strengthen their role. Enforcement is not solely BFAR’s job, as Aparri herself points out: “It’s not only BFAR’s mandate… it is everybody’s concern.” Local governments must ensure fisherfolk are properly briefed, supported, and shielded from exploitative middlemen who take advantage of seasonal scarcity to depress buying prices.
The Visayan Sea closed season is a cornerstone of responsible fisheries management. It is key to ensuring that the Dumaa, Sardinas, Tabagak, Bulaw, and Alumaan return in abundance — not just for future generations, but for the very communities struggling today. But sustainability must never be purchased at the expense of human dignity.
The challenge, therefore, is balance. Protect the sea, yes. But protect the people who protect the sea even more.
If conservation is the long-term goal, then supporting the fisherfolk of Western Visayas through these three difficult months is not charity — it is good governance, and it is the only path to a truly sustainable future.
