“There are months when we catch nothing. But we keep fishing because we have no choice.”

By Shan Kenshin Ecaldre 
Bulatlat.com

CALAMBA, Laguna – While most Calamba residents are still asleep at around 1:00 a.m., Wilfredo “Tatay Fredo” Azada is already waist-deep in the waters of Laguna Lake. On some nights, he begins his routine at 10:00 p.m. armed with a flashlight, nets, and the sheer determination to bring home a few kilos of fish. But that does not guarantee food on the table.

Azada is 67 years old and has lived more than half of his life depending on the resources provided by Laguna Lake. For decades, it has sustained him and thousands of fisherfolk in Calamba and neighboring towns. But over time, that lake which gives them livelihood has become polluted, resulting in a decline in fish catch. What’s worse is that they now face displacement due to the Laguna Lakeshore Road Network (LLRN), a loan funded government infrastructure project.

From Quezon to Calamba: The search for livelihood 

Azada was born in 1958 in Catanauan, Quezon. As the eldest sibling, he dropped out of fourth grade so his younger siblings could continue their education. In 1986, his family moved to barangay Palisam in Calamba, Laguna, settling near the shore of Laguna Lake to seek better opportunities.

He worked as a construction laborer, landscaper, and even briefly in Wonder Island, a resort situated in the middle of the lake. But none of those jobs offered long-term stability. Fishing, despite its instability, became the most consistent source of income.

“Back then, even small tilapia sold for P80 per kilo. The big ones? They went for P100 (less than $2). Selling 10 kilos (of tilapia) could support a family. Now? Two kilos sell for P60. We’re losing money,” Azada said in an interview with Bulatlat.

A declining resource

Laguna Lake is the country’s largest freshwater body and supports more than 13,000 fisherfolk. Once a clean and dependable resource, the lake has suffered from pollution from nearby factories, waste disposal, and years of neglect by authorities.

“The lake used to be clean. We used to drink water straight from it. Now, you might get diarrhea,” Azada said.

He explained how the abundance of fish has dwindled sharply. “There are months when we catch nothing. But we keep fishing because we have no choice.”

Fishing today is no longer a matter of routine as it has become a gamble. Fisherfolk must anticipate what species will emerge on a given night and choose the correct gear accordingly. “Ayungin is expensive at P120 per kilo,” he said, “but catching it takes all night. You need the right net, full attention, and luck.”

Azada said that there are “months when we catch nothing.” In Laguna de Bay, municipal fish catch dropped from 64,116 metric tons (MT) in 2018 to 32,535 MT in 2022—nearly a 50% decrease. Aquaculture yields also fell by 43% in the same period. This decline reflects decades of dwindling productivity worsened by lake pollution, invasive species, overfishing, and the unchecked spread of fish pens.

The LLRN: Development for whom?

Despite these hardships, fisherfolk face another threat in the form of the Laguna Lakeshore Road Network (LLRN). It is a 37.6-kilometer elevated expressway and dike to be built along the western shore of Laguna de Bay, connecting Lower Bicutan in Taguig to Calamba, Laguna. It is funded by a $1.7-billion loan from the Asian Development Bank and is being implemented under the Marcos Jr. administration’s Build Better More program, a flagship infrastructure push presented as a solution to Metro Manila’s traffic congestion.

To national planners, the LLRN is a modern highway. But to those who live along its path, it is a barrier that threatens to cut them off permanently from the lake they depend on.

“This isn’t just a road,” he said. “After the road comes buildings, fences, and guards. We’ll no longer be allowed to approach the lake. Back then, even getting near fishponds was off-limits. Now there will be solar panels and electric wires around. You go near,  it could cost your life.”

A pattern of displacement

The Pambansang Lakas ng Kilusang Mamalakaya sa Pilipinas (Pamalakaya)–Rizal chapter, a progressive fisherfolk organization, has issued a strong rejection of the project. According to their statement, over 100,000 fisherfolk families are at risk of eviction or restricted access to their fishing grounds due to LLRN and related reclamation projects.

“The term “development aggression” is used in the context of projects that harm the rights of communities without proper consultation, often in relation to large-scale infrastructure, mining, and massive energy ventures,” the group said. 

They said that the expressway would worsen environmental degradation by blocking natural water flows and increasing siltation and pollution. As water becomes more stagnant, fish habitats will deteriorate, further reducing the catch.

In tandem with LLRN, other large-scale projects threaten the lake’s ecosystem and the fisherfolk’s livelihood include: a P18.7 billion ($328 million) dredging project linked to land speculation; a 2,000-hectare floating solar farm in the middle of the lake; a 12-meter concrete dike as a flood-control solution which experts say may increase flood risk and prevent ecological restoration.

The Save Laguna Lake Movement, a multi-sectoral campaign opposing these interventions, has called out the government for prioritizing profit-driven projects over genuine environmental rehabilitation.

 “They call it climate resilience,” they noted. “But in reality, it’s privatization. Instead of fixing drainage or enforcing pollution laws, they build over natural resources and displace the poor.”

Not just a livelihood, a way of life

For Azada, fishing is not just an income source, it is the foundation of his family’s survival. If access to the lake is blocked, there is no clear alternative. “If this project pushes through, thousands will lose their livelihood. Not just us, even our children and grandchildren. The question is: where will we go?”

In places like Taguig, Binangonan, and Calamba, past reclamation and shoreline developments displaced fisherfolk and fenced off once-public spaces. In Taguig’s C-6 Road area, access points were blocked by private developers. In Binangonan, former fish landing zones became private resorts.

 In Calamba and San Pedro, eco-tourism and flood projects pushed families inland, with military presence becoming normalized. These cases show a pattern that once access is taken, it is rarely restored, replaced by exclusion, control, and the quiet loss of livelihood and community.

“This isn’t a fight for one person. If we want to defend the lake, we have to do it together. If no one resists, they’ll take everything.” Azada said. (AMU, DAA)