APO island reef: Paradise lost, regained, shared

MANILA, Philippines –  There is something about an island that makes it a world unto itself. For inhabitants, a sense of “owning the world” invariably nurtures an illusion of endless bounty, the way it is in paradise, or in our concept of it.

Apo Island is a paradise by all known standards, save for the fact that it has, not a couple, but roughly 800 human beings living among birds and bees, and yes, snakes, to qualify the analogy.

This 72-hectare protected area in Negros Oriental proudly juts out of the waters of the Sulu Sea, to the west of a vast expanse of reef systems spanning 155,000 hectares of the South China Sea known as the Apo Reef. 

In the early days when men were more into exploring oceans to conquer new territory than exploring the depths to conquer resources, Apo Island had much to offer to sustain the few people living on it. The steep volcanic slope is home to numerous species of fish and corals. 

But then people began to want more than what marine life could naturally provide and started to engage in destructive fishing methods like muro-ami and dynamite fishing. Over time, a steady decline in fish catch was noticed.

Paradise was dying.

In 1979, Silliman University gave Apo Island an initial dose of marine life conservation when it broached the idea of establishing a sanctuary where all fishing was banned. This was understandably met with resistance but as the project went underway, in baby steps, fish catch was closely monitored and fisherfolk were regularly shown photographs documenting the improvement on their fish reserve.

Finally sold on the long-term benefits of the conservation project, the island community and local council in 1985 crafted a municipal ordinance formally declaring Apo Island as a no-take marine sanctuary to be managed by elected Apo residents.

In 1994, Presidential Proclamation No. 438 declared Apo Island and its surrounding waters a Protected Landscape and Seascape, covering 681 hectares of terrestrial and marine territory. 

Today after decades of conservation and protection, the quantity and quality of marine life have been successfully restored. Biomass of large predatory fish has increased eightfold in the reserve and nesting turtles are back on its shores. Whale sharks and bumphead parrotfish were once again paying occasional visits to its waters.

A paradise regained.

Restricting inhabitants from engaging in the only livelihood activity they knew of course meant dismal economic prospects for them. Here was a people living in paradise yet living in want. It didn’t make sense. An emerging trend called ecotourism did, but that meant opening up the hidden treasures of this paradise to the rest of the world, for a fee.

Apo Island embraced ecotourism out of necessity, yet with a sheer determination to uplift the socioeconomic well-being of island residents and conserve resources for future generations to enjoy.

Since the collection of fees for appreciation of the protected area was systematized in 1999, gross revenue from the last decade has reached P31.8 million. Some 54 percent of this comes from diving, filming, anchoring, and entrance fees; the remaining share comes from other activities such as snorkeling, resource use, mooring, and camping.

A quarter of Apo Island’s annual ecotourism revenue goes to the national government while the rest goes back to the local community to cover expenses related to area management, maintenance of facilities, nature conservation, people’s training, and the provision of livelihood opportunities.

To date, ecotourism focusing on the collection of fees is deemed as the most exemplary conservation practice that has ever been put in place in the Apo Island Protected Area, enabling it to be known all over the world as one of the best models of a community-managed marine reserve. 

The success story of Apo Island has lured over 100,000 foreign and local tourists in the last 10 years, most of whom do not mind paying fees to appreciate this island paradise.

The only fly in the ointment perhaps is that paradise, in order to maintain its stature as such, should be within the reach of only a select few and to let it play out as a mere grand dream in the minds of the rest. For to make paradise available to one and all would inevitably render it common and ordinary.

Amazingly, Apo Island has transcended any baggage borne by this notion as it takes on a yet greater vision: as “a marine paradise that is the prime ecotourism destination in Asia, a model for balancing nature with the way of life of friendly, peaceful, and prosperous people.”

In short, a paradise shared.