Meet the Filipino environmental defenders safeguarding their land

By Javie Barcinal, 2024 Forest Restoration Steward

In the heart of the Sierra Madre, the longest and most biodiverse mountain range in the Philippines, Indigenous youth from the Dumagat-Remontado community are fighting to safeguard their ancestral land and cultural heritage. 

Stretching across Luzon, the country’s largest island, the Sierra Madre is a critical ecological stronghold, acting as a natural typhoon barrier, climate regulator and habitat for rare and endemic species.

But despite its environmental and cultural importance, the region faces escalating threats from deforestation and large-scale development projects.

In General Nakar, Quezon, a municipality located in the southern reaches of the mountain range, the Dumagat-Remontado continue their long-standing tradition of land stewardship. 

Their name reflects their history: Dumagat (from dagat, meaning ‘sea’) refers to their coastal origins, while Remontado means ‘those who returned to the mountains.’ For generations, they have relied on hunting, gathering and rotational farming, maintaining a deep spiritual connection to the land. 

Today, their youth are at the forefront of efforts to protect their home, resisting encroachments and advocating for the conservation of their environment and Indigenous identity for future generations.

For them, conservation is not just a contemporary issue but deeply embedded into their way of life – a core belief that has been passed down by their elders. For the Dumagat-Remontado, nature is sacred and intrinsically linked to their spirituality.

“We don’t take anything from nature without asking for permission,” says Lovely, one of the youth leaders and a pioneer member of UGBON, an Indigenous youth organization in the southern Sierra Madre dedicated to valuing ancestral lands, mountain restoration and Indigenous culture. 

UGBON was formed by Dumagat-Remontado youth in the area who saw the need to prepare future generations as trusted and committed leaders of their ancestral domain. By uniting rural mountainous communities, UGBON serves as a guide in strengthening Indigenous identity and safeguarding the natural environment that sustains them.

“If you harm nature, it’s like harming the creator,” says Boniknik, a licensed teacher, co-founder of UGBON and 2025 GLF Mountain Restoration Steward. 

She advocates passing down Indigenous culture to future generations, emphasizing that her people’s relationship with the environment goes beyond survival – it’s deeply rooted in respect for their ancestors and the creator, Makidepet.

Bonikinik and Lovely explain that Makidepet refers not only to the creator but also to the deep sense of interconnectedness, reciprocity and mutual respect within their community and the environment. It embodies the practice of sharing, cooperation and maintaining harmonious relationships, not only among people but also with the land, rivers, forests and all living beings.

This concept reflects their worldview that everything is interconnected and that taking from nature comes with the responsibility of giving back and caring for it.

“Wherever Makidepet is, nature is there,” says Boniknik. 

This belief serves as the foundation for the care and respect their community gives to the land.

“If you cut something or destroy something, it’s like you’ve destroyed the creator,” Boniknik adds, emphasizing that their practices are centered around maintaining a balanced relationship with the Earth rather than treating it as a resource to exploit.

Fighting for Indigenous practices 

Despite practicing sustainable methods and receiving global recognition, Indigenous communities like those of Boniknik and Lovely often face systemic exclusion from funding and decision-making spaces. 

“The World Bank’s research says Indigenous Peoples are the best forest managers, but even with this global recognition, external institutions don’t respect our methods,” Boniknik laments.

The value of traditional and Indigenous knowledge has proven regenerative over centuries, yet Indigenous Peoples continue to struggle for their right to manage their ancestral lands. 

Much of the backlash against their ways of living is rooted in misunderstanding. Despite the recognition of the Dumagat-Remontado as excellent forest managers, their knowledge and rights are still disregarded at the national and local levels.

One clear example is how the Dumagat-Remontado practice kaingin, a form of swidden or shifting cultivation. Like many upland communities in the Philippines, they have long used this method as a sustainable approach to land management. The Dumagat-Remontado way of practicing kaingin is deeply rooted in their culture and spiritual relationship with nature. 

Unlike destructive slash-and-burn techniques associated with large-scale deforestation, Indigenous kaingin is a controlled and intentional practice. It follows a cyclical process in which small plots of land are carefully selected, cleared and burned to enrich the soil with nutrients before being planted with a diverse range of crops. 

Once the soil’s fertility diminishes, the land is left to regenerate naturally, promoting forest regrowth and biodiversity.

“We plant rice, coconuts and rambutan. It’s about making sure the land stays fertile and works together with the forest,” Lovely explains.

Despite its ecological benefits, kaingin has been widely misunderstood and stigmatized due to colonial and institutional policies that have vilified traditional land management. 

During the Spanish and American colonial periods, deforestation became rampant in the Philippines. Colonial authorities stripped Indigenous Peoples and local communities of their lands, which they turned into state-controlled forestry and commercial plantations owned by wealthy landowners. 

These plantations thrived under a feudal system that exploited workers with meager wages while clearing massive areas of forest land. Alongside this exploitation came the erasure of Indigenous and traditional land management practices in rural upland communities.

These narratives continued following independence, with government agencies like the Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) and the Department of Agriculture enforcing policies that labeled kaingin as destructive. 

The 1975 Forestry Reform Code reinforced this misconception by banning kaingin from being practiced without a permit, portraying it as a leading cause of deforestation and environmental degradation.

This institutional framing has deeply influenced public perception, associating kaingin with reckless land clearance rather than the sustainable and community-managed practice it truly is. The stigma persists today and is often used to justify land dispossession and the exclusion of Indigenous Peoples and local communities from conservation programs. 

Even with the passing of the 1997 Indigenous Peoples’ Rights Act (IPRA), which legally recognized the right of Indigenous communities to practice kaingin on their ancestral lands, many Indigenous farmers still face harassment, legal battles or displacement due to lingering prejudices against their traditional practices.

Boniknik and Lovely’s defense of kaingin is not just about protecting a farming method. It’s about reclaiming their right to steward the land like their ancestors did.

Their approach aligns with agroecology and agroforestry principles, demonstrating that sustainable land management does not require external intervention but simply involves allowing Indigenous and local communities to practice their ways without fear of criminalization.

Land rights at risk 

Alongside defending their right to carry out their Indigenous land practices, Dumagat-Remontado communities are continuing their fight to secure and protect their ancestral lands. 

Their resistance is particularly urgent in the face of government-backed projects like the Kaliwa Dam, which, while touted as a driver of economic growth and water security in nearby cities, is expected to submerge homes and damage the Sierra Madre’s ecosystem.

“We’re continuing to fight for our ancestral land rights,” says Boniknik. “We’re working on boundaries through restoration so that future generations know that this land belongs to us.” 

However, their struggle isn’t just against external actors, as internal divisions are also threatening the community’s resistance against the megadam. 

Lovely reveals that some locals and elders have begun supporting the dam’s construction. These individuals have been misled and bribed to stand against UGBON’s mission of conserving and protecting their land for present and future generations. 

This divide within the community reflects a broader systemic issue: capitalist and extractivist models are forcing Indigenous Peoples and local communities into making impossible choices, pitting survival against sovereignty. 

The promise of short-term financial relief in exchange for ancestral lands is a deliberate tactic used by corporations and state-backed entities to divide and weaken resistance. By exploiting crises, whether environmental or economic, these powerful interests manipulate vulnerable communities, advancing their own agendas at the expense of local rights and livelihoods.

Boniknik explains how these tactics are used to manipulate people into supporting the megadam despite its catastrophic consequences. 

“They’re thinking only of their own interests, wanting to elevate their situation, while the rest of us are left struggling,” she points out.

Conservation or control? 

Boniknik and Lovely also highlight another troubling threat to their community – one that often comes disguised as ‘help.’

NGOization is when external actors exploit Indigenous and local knowledge while simultaneously marginalizing the very communities that sustain it. Conservation groups, NGOs and state-backed institutions often claim to support Indigenous rights, yet their bureaucratized and professionalized structures prioritize external accountability over community autonomy. 

Instead of amplifying Indigenous leadership, these organizations generate issue-specific knowledge and services that fit donor agendas while sidelining local decision making.

Boniknik recalls how certain groups co-opt traditional land management practices under the guise of environmental protection but refuse to recognize Indigenous governance.

“They offer partnership agreements, but we end up working with organizations whose true intentions are unclear,” she explains.

This pattern reflects a broader colonial legacy where powerful institutions dictate conservation narratives while Indigenous and local communities, who have stewarded these landscapes for generations, are excluded from decision making.

In some cases, conservation initiatives even become tools of land grabbing, where protected areas are established on Indigenous lands after their rightful owners have been displaced. 

“They say they’re here to help, but we know the history of displacement,” Boniknik emphasizes.

This mirrors the NGOization of local social movements. Once grassroots efforts become absorbed into bureaucratic structures, the movements themselves risk being diluted or redirected.

In the case of conservation, NGOization operates as a form of neoliberal governance, where environmental policies are shaped through the formalized encounter between the state, the market and civil society, rather than through the leadership of those directly impacted.

The same cycle of dispossession that Indigenous and local communities have faced for centuries continues today, repackaged around the language of ‘development’ and ‘support.’ 

NGOs are often complicit in this system. They act as intermediaries, creating a buffer between local resistance and state or corporate interests, while appearing neutral. They often rely on non-evidence-based reporting, data monopolization and research tailored to donor priorities rather than for the benefit of affected communities.

Forest rangers are frontline defenders

From the southern Sierra Madre to the forests of Antique province in the central Philippines, local forest rangers face similar struggles in their fight for conservation and forest protection. 

Antique, located on the west coast of Panay in the Visayas region, is home to vast primary forests that shelter a diverse array of endemic flora and fauna. However, like the Dumagat-Remontado, those working to safeguard Antique’s forests also face systemic challenges, including inadequate support, external interference and the ongoing struggle for autonomy over conservation efforts.

These forest rangers play crucial roles in local conservation and law enforcement, working on the ground to combat illegal logging, protect wildlife and monitor protected areas and key biodiversity areas.

Despite their dedication, their efforts are severely hindered by limited resources and delayed funding. They explain that one of the organizations they work with rely on external funding sources like the Darwin Project, but lengthy approval processes and bureaucratic red tape often prevent these funds from reaching the people who need them most.

“If we had direct access to funds, it would make a big difference,” says forest ranger team leader Sir Raymund, adding that local government units (LGUs) also fail to provide adequate finance to directly support their work.  

The consequences of these funding lapses are felt directly on the ground. Sir Raymund describes situations where LGU workers are unable to carry out their duties because of a lack of training and preparation. 

“Local hires often can’t go to the field because they’re unprepared, so the funds get wasted,” he adds.

Despite these obstacles, the group’s commitment remains steadfast. Their work, much like that of UGBON in Sierra Madre, relies on trust, local knowledge and a deep familiarity of the landscape and grassroots dynamics. 

They emphasize the importance of sustainable and community-centered funding to ensure that conservation efforts are not dictated by external agendas but instead remain responsive to the needs of those directly protecting these ecosystems. ​​

“We trust each other, and if given the resources, we can really make a difference in forest protection,” the team emphasizes.

Safeguarding Indigenous and community-led conservation

As global conservation efforts increasingly turn to high-tech solutions like artificial intelligence (AI) for ecosystem restoration and conservation, Indigenous communities and local forest defenders remain skeptical. 

They argue that while AI can track changes in forests from a distance, it cannot replace the intergenerational knowledge and lived experience of those who have coexisted with these landscapes for centuries.

“We’ve always believed that technology is not enough,” says Boniknik.

This sentiment is echoed by forest rangers in Antique, who see technology as a useful tool but not a replacement for human stewardship.

“Technology can help, but it’s the people on the ground, living with the forest, who make the real difference,” says Sir Raymund.

Both UGBON and the forest rangers of Antique share a common message: for conservation efforts to succeed, the global community must move away from top-down approaches and embrace grassroots-led solutions.

Safeguards must be in place to protect Indigenous and rural land rights, prevent the co-optation of traditional knowledge and ensure that conservation efforts do not become another avenue for dispossession. To achieve true sustainability, we need direct funding, fair partnerships and policies that enable local leadership rather than external control.

Through these safeguards, Boniknik, Lovely, Sir Raymund and the rangers hope to restore and protect nature while honoring the cultural heritage and sovereignty of their people. 

Their fight reflects the struggles of many Indigenous groups and environmental defenders across the Philippines and the world, who continue to resist displacement, exploitation and the erasure of their knowledge in the name of ‘progress’ and ‘conservation.’