Embedded Files
Harvest of Hope, Season of Loss
By: Chaline Jane C. Perdigon, CASUROG NEWS
Publication Date: May 19, 2025
The frost still clung to the green blades of cabbage leaves as the morning sun slowly warmed the hills of Buguias, Benguet. Beneath the mist, farmers trudged across the moist fields, their rubber boots sinking into the cold, fertile soil. Janaret bent low to inspect a head of cabbage, her gloved hands brushing off dirt with care. After five long months of nurturing her crop through cold winds and heavy rains, the harvest should have felt victorious. But instead of pride, her face wore the heaviness of uncertainty. She knew this harvest might be another gamble—and another loss.
In the highlands of Benguet, where the soil is rich but the market is ruthless, cabbage farming has become a cruel cycle of hope and heartbreak. Despite the hard labor and significant investments by farmers like Janaret and Dandy, the return is often devastatingly low due to price manipulation, import competition, and a flawed trading system. This story unearths the struggles behind every cabbage sold—or discarded—in the Philippines' vegetable capital, where dreams are planted with every seed, only to wither with the market’s unpredictable tides.
This year, her family invested ₱40,000 in the soil, water, and sweat needed to raise cabbage. But breaking even remains a gamble. "‘Yong iba, talagang tamang tama sa mga ano…sa magagandang presyo pero sa amin kasi kapag late ka nang magtanim, syempre yong aabutin mo…mababa,’” Janaret explained, her voice tinged with both fatigue and resignation.
What used to be direct farm-to-buyer transactions have now turned into a maze of middlemen and falling prices. “Noon kasi ang pagbebenta namin, deretso sa.. ano.. sa bodega ng mga buyers. Nakukuha ang mga gulay namin, na wala namang natitira o nababalik o naipamimigay. ‘Di katulad ngayon na halos ipamigay,” Dandy shared, recalling better days when their produce fetched fair prices.
At the heart of the problem lies a supply chain that often robs the farmer of their due. “Nakasampo lang naman daw ang repolyo ngayon,” said Ramon, one of the “disposers” who collect the produce. “Depende man yan sa dami ng ano, dumadating. Kapag marami ang gulay talaga, maramihan ang bagsak. Kapag kunti ang gulay, tataas.”
Despite their efforts, cabbage prices continue to plummet, sometimes down to as little as two pesos per kilo—an amount that doesn’t even cover labor, much less transport. And while farmers struggle to recover even a fraction of their investment, consumers in cities like Baguio and Manila pay up to 100 pesos per kilo.
Still, Janaret clings to hope, even in the face of mounting debt. “Sakali lang ah… na kahit na ganiyan, para mabayaran ang utang. Para po sa… kahit na e, makipagsapalaran po ma’am,” she said. Her debt has now swelled to nearly ₱200,000.
The weight is not just financial—it’s emotional. “Kasi e, iniisip mo kung gaano kahirap tapos sinasama yong mga bata. Ganyang mababa ang presyo, medyo ahmm… parang nakakainsulto…. Kasi inaasahan mong maganda ang presyo pero ganon pala,” Janaret said.
Behind every head of cabbage is a story of labor, of borrowed money, of hopes pinned on each harvest. But without structural reform and a more compassionate market, the story for many farmers may continue to end in loss.
REFERENCE LINKS:
(1) https://youtu.be/GcCkQoceR64?si=xZgNDv6L_lN15p7I
(3) https://www.philstar.com/business/2024/01/22/2327492/benguets-cabbage-glut
From Drought to Renewal: Marvin’s Coconut Farm in Davao
By: Froilan Ramos, CASUROG NEWS
Publication Date: June 3, 2025
Coconut farming is more than just an occupation — it is a way of life deeply rooted in tradition, patience, and harmony with nature. For generations, coconut farmers have worked the land not simply to make a living, but to uphold a legacy that sustains families, communities, and cultures.
In the sun-scorched fields of Davao, 24-year-old coconut farmer Marvin once faced the harsh realities of climate change and limited agricultural knowledge. Inherited farming practices from his father were no match for the prolonged dry seasons that devastated his crops.
“If [they] had reached us even before last year when there was a long period of the dry season – when our farm was damaged – if we had received the messages then, we could have prepared our farms,” Marvin lamented.
Marvin’s turning point came with the introduction of the Grameen Foundation’s Digital Farming platform. This innovative program leverages basic mobile phones to deliver crucial information on good agricultural practices, pest threats, disease outbreaks, and extreme weather alerts. Central to its success are the Grameen Community Agents, like Charity, who provide personalized guidance to farmers.
“Every time she visits, she encourages me to fertilize, to mulch, and she shows me the various kinds of pests which could possibly infest our farm,” Marvin shared.
“I am very thankful for the visits of [Community] Agent Charity. Every time she visits, she encourages me to fertilize, to mulch, and she shows me the various kinds of pests which could possibly infest our farm,” said Marvin. “Monthly visits by an Agent help us improve our farm and make it prosper for our own good.”
Like most farmers in the Philippines, Marvin inherited his land and his farming practices from his father. “My father passed on to me all he knew about how to take care of his farmland. Everything I know about farming, I learned from him. And now I learn through Grameen.”
Through monthly visits and continuous support, Marvin learned sustainable farming techniques, such as using coconut husks for mulching to retain soil moisture during dry spells. These practices have revitalized his farm, with coconut trees now bearing fruit and growing more leaves.
“I want to apply everything that I have learned to our farm so that we don’t get left behind from other growers,” he expressed with renewed optimism.
“This is especially [true] during the dry season to keep the soil most – to prevent the coconut tree from drying out and also to keep it bearing fruit,” said Marvin
Coconut trees grow in clusters, much like the communities that depend on them. In rural areas across Asia, the Pacific Islands, the Caribbean, and Africa, coconut farming is the backbone of local economies. It supports small-scale producers, creates jobs in processing and transport, and connects distant cultures through trade.
But beyond economics, coconut farming preserves cultural practices — from culinary traditions to indigenous crafting and herbal medicine. The tree is often called the “Tree of Life”, and for good reason: its usefulness touches nearly every part of daily living
“Our coconut trees are now slowly bearing fruits and growing more leaves. I want to apply everything that I have learned to our farm so that we don’t get left behind from other growers. I am hoping that this [program] will continue so it could help others aside from me. So, others could increase their income and enhance their knowledge. So that those who don’t know… will know and will be able to teach others.”
Being a farmer is not simply about tending crops. It’s about stewardship — caring for the earth so that it continues to give. It’s about connection — to the environment, to ancestors, and to the future. And it’s about pride — in knowing that every harvest contributes to a larger story of sustainability, community, and life.
In a world of fast-paced industries and modern agriculture, coconut farming remains a quiet yet powerful reminder that the most essential things in life often come slowly, steadily, and with care
Marvin’s journey underscores the transformative power of combining traditional knowledge with modern technology. His story is a testament to how digital tools and community support can empower farmers to overcome challenges and build resilient livelihoods.
REFERENCE LINKS:
(1) https://grameenfoundation.org/stories/stories-of-change/marvin-story
(2) https://livelihoods.eu/portfolio/resilient-coconut-supply-chain-and-improved-income-philippines/
From Silence to Pride: Rina’s Journey of Visibility in Bicol
By: Elaine Iris Presnosa, CASUROG NEWS
Publication Date: June 3, 2025
For most of her early life, 26-year-old Rina lived in quiet corners, careful not to be seen too clearly, cautious not to speak too loudly. In her small coastal barangay in Bicol, being “different” was often met with whispers, stares, or silence.
“I grew up thinking I had to hide,” Rina recalls. “Even when I was a child, I knew I was a girl, but I was born in a boy’s body. I kept that truth in my chest like a stone I couldn’t drop.”
Rina’s journey is one shared by many transgender Filipinas in rural areas—where tradition often overshadows understanding, and where being LGBTQIA+ is still regarded as taboo. In a country where tolerance often masks discrimination, living authentically remains a daily challenge for many.
Her turning point came during a community orientation on human rights led by a local LGBTQIA+ advocacy group. It was the first time Rina heard the words gender identity and SOGIE explained in her native tongue.
“For the first time, I felt like I wasn’t a mistake,” she said, tears welling. “I was a person with rights, not just someone people gossiped about.”
The orientation was part of a broader effort led by GALANG Philippines and local government units to build awareness and safe spaces in underserved areas. But beyond policies and programs, it was the human connection that sparked something in Rina—a sense of belonging.
Soon after, Rina joined a local LGBTQIA+ organization and began volunteering as a peer educator. Through workshops on gender sensitivity, youth mental health, and anti-discrimination, she found not only her voice—but her purpose.
“I’m not just out now—I’m proud. I speak in barangay assemblies. I help youth who are going through what I went through. This isn’t just my healing—it’s our healing.”
“We are not asking for extra rights. We are asking for equal rights—to live without fear, to love without shame, to speak without hiding.”
— Rina, LGBTQIA+ advocate
Rina’s advocacy didn’t come without challenges. She faced ridicule, was denied job opportunities, and once overheard a neighbor say she “wasn’t fit to represent women.” But instead of retreating, Rina leaned in—educating others with patience, resilience, and hope.
Bit by bit, hearts in her community have begun to change. “Now when people see me, they don’t just see ‘bakla’—they see Ate Rina, the one who helped them with their livelihood forms, the one who comforted their child, the one who shows up,” she said.
“If I can help just one young person feel less alone, then everything I’ve been through is worth it.”
In 2023, Rina was elected as the first transgender officer in their municipal Gender and Development Council. With this role, she continues to push for inclusive policies, such as accessible gender-neutral bathrooms, scholarships for LGBTQIA+ youth, and the long-delayed establishment of a permanent LGBTQIA+ Desk at the municipal hall.
Despite these small wins, there remains a long road ahead.
Many LGBTQIA+ individuals in rural Philippines still face discrimination in schools, health services, and employment. Anti-discrimination ordinances exist in some areas, but implementation remains weak. Offices designated to protect LGBTQIA+ rights often lack budget, personnel, or even physical space—mirroring the half-built “LGBTQIA+ office” in a recent political cartoon.
Still, stories like Rina’s remind us that change doesn’t always come in grand declarations—it begins with one person daring to speak, to be seen, to show up for others.
“Before, I thought I was alone. But now I know I am part of something bigger.
Rina’s story is not just about personal transformation—it’s about community resilience. It is proof that when inclusion becomes real, lives can be reshaped, and whole communities can be uplifted.From silence to pride, from fear to leadership—Rina is not only living her truth. She is helping others write theirs.
REFERENCE LINK:
Rooted in Resilience: How We Filipinos Face Climate Change
By: Peliglorio Jade, CASUROG NEWS
Publication Date: June 3, 2025
Very slowly, as the morning sun comes up, it shines golden on the wide coast of the Philippines, where the calm waves are changing. The movement of mangroves and preparations by fishermen do not change, yet the normal rhythms are being interrupted. In recent years, the ocean has become warmer, storms have grown stronger, and floods are now more frequent. It is becoming more and more obvios that climate change is already a regular problem for Filipinos.
The residents of Iloilo’s mountains have a great deal of knowledge about nature which they use to plan their planting. No one is completely safe from stress. Leopoldo Lebuna once had a dream before Typhoon Haiyan struck. His wife, Adelfa, said he woke up and warned everyone to seek shelter. Yet despite their readiness, the storm still destroyed their home and crops. This is an example of how experienced investors can still be taken by surprise by the way the climate is changing.
For many families living along the shores, these changes have meant lost homes, damaged crops, and uncertain futures. “Dati, banayad lang ang ulan at inaasahan namin kung kailan siya babagsak,” Liza said, one of the fishermen in Eastern Samar. “Ngayon, ang mga bagyo sobrang lakas na, halos wala na kaming panahon para maghanda.” Like Liza, many Filipinos are experiencing their lives gradually being transformed by climate change.
According to PAGASA, temperature in the Philippines are expected to rise between 1.8°C to 2.2°C by 2050. This increase brings longer heatwaves, dries up water sources, and makes life even harder for farming communities. Meanwhile, the rising sea levels threaten to swallow entire villages, forcing residents to move inland and abandon lands passed down for generations.
The National Integrated Climate Change Database and Information Exchange System (NICCDIES) warns that the Philippines could lose up to six percent of its Gross Domestic Product (GDP) each year by 2100 if urgent action is not taken. Fisherfolk lose their catch as coral reefs bleach and die; farmers watch helplessly as droughts and floods destroy their harvests. The rich biodiversity that once flourished is now struggling to survive.
Super Typhoon Haiyan, which hit in 2013, left an unforgettable scar — over 6,300 lives lost and countless more displaced. And just last year, the Philippines was battered by five typhoons within a single month, leaving devastation in their wake. Such storm make clear that climate change is an issue we deal with now and not only in the future.
On the contrary, hope is still available to many. In cooperation with the local people and international helpers, the government is aiming to improve readiness for disasters, foster the use of renewable energy and restore mangroves and forests. As DENR Secretary Maria Antonia Yulo-Loyzaga emphasized, “We must build resilience by integrating climate action into our national priorities, ensuring that our communities are prepared for the challenges ahead.”
This fight matters a lot to students and young people. If we earn knowledge, speak it and lead sustainable lives, we together create a world where people and nature prosper together.
REFERENCE LINKS:
(1) https://www.pagasa.dost.gov.ph/information/climate-change-in-the-philippines
(2) https://niccdies.climate.gov.ph/climate-change-impacts
(3) https://www.theguardian.com/world/2024/nov/15/philippines-weather-typhoon-yinxing-toraji-usagi
“She Who Speaks”: The Courage of Aisia Castelo, a Young Trans Woman from the Philippines
By: Elaine Iris Presnosa, CASUROG NEWS
Publication Date: June 4, 2025
When Aisia Castelo walks into a room—whether virtual or physical—she brings more than presence. She brings stories. Wounds that healed. Questions that still ache. And above all, she brings the voice of someone who has fought not just to be heard, but to exist.
“I was 12 when I first looked in the mirror and saw myself—not just the face, but the girl inside. And then I looked away, because I knew I wasn’t allowed to be her,” Aisia shares, her voice steady, but you can feel the memories beneath it.
Now 24, Aisia is a proud transgender woman and digital rights activist. But she didn’t arrive at this version of herself easily, or safely. Her childhood was a quiet war of hiding, whispering, pretending—inside a society where being transgender was not a topic, but a taboo.
She grew up in a small, conservative town in the Philippines. Her school required her to wear a boy’s uniform. Her classmates stared when she grew her hair longer. Once, she was barred from entering a school event for wearing earrings and lip tint. That day, she remembers, she cried not out of defiance, but from a sadness so old it felt inherited.
“I just wanted to show up as myself, that’s all. I didn’t want to make a statement. I just didn’t want to disappear anymore,” she said.
But Aisia did not disappear.
She found her way to a community. Slowly, quietly, and then all at once—through online spaces, youth forums, and LGBTQIA+ networks. Her mother became her first ally. Her sister—also a proud transgender woman—became her anchor.
“I remember when Mama bought me my first pair of women’s underwear. It felt like a ceremony,” Aisia says with a soft laugh. “It was her way of saying, ‘I see you, and I love you just like this.’”
It was more than fabric. It was a thread of recognition in a world that often refused to look.
As she grew older, Aisia found her voice not just in her identity, but in her activism. She began leading digital workshops, speaking in forums, and training young people to understand gender, safety, and dignity online. Today, through Amnesty International’s RIGHTS CLICK project, she’s building safe online spaces—because offline, so many are still unsafe.
“Most young LGBTQIA+ people are online more than anywhere else,” she explains. “So if they can’t be safe there, if they’re bullied, if they’re misinformed, where else do they go?”
Aisia knows the answer, because she once had nowhere else to go. That’s why she builds.
Still, being an activist in the Philippines comes with its own dangers. Online harassment is constant. And then there’s “red-tagging”—a terrifying reality where activists are accused of being threats to national security simply for raising their voices.
“I’ve been told to shut up more times than I can count,” she says, “but each time, I ask myself—what happens if I do? Who speaks for that younger version of me, sitting alone in a school hallway, wondering if she deserves to be loved?”
That’s why Aisia stays visible.
Not because it’s easy—but because it’s necessary.
She mentors younger trans girls now. Some call her “Ate Aisia” (Big Sister Aisia). She teaches them how to advocate, how to take up space, and how to care for themselves when the world refuses to. She reminds them they are not broken. That survival is not the goal—joy is.
“I want people to feel joy in their skin, in their names, in their pronouns. That’s what we’re fighting for—not just safety, but celebration.”
Through her activism, Aisia also pushes for systemic changes—gender-neutral facilities, SOGIE-inclusive education, accessible healthcare. Her activism is gentle, but persistent. It doesn’t shout—it builds. Patiently. Brick by brick.
In her own words:
“We are not dangerous. We are not confused. We are not a trend. We are human. And we have always been here.”
Aisia’s story reminds us that change doesn’t always begin in protests or legislation. Sometimes, it begins in a bedroom mirror. In a mother’s quiet acceptance. In a girl who dared to be seen.
She is no longer asking for permission. She is living her truth—loudly, beautifully, and without apology. And she’s making room for others to do the same.
REFERENCE LINK:
Page updated
Google Sites
Report abuse