Environment crusaders try to save Philippine paradise

MESECOY, Palawan (AFP) – Tata gives hand signals for his men to drop to the rainforest floor as the searing whine of a chainsaw fades, their mission to save a critically endangered piece of paradise in the Philippines suddenly on hold.

Former para-military leader Efren “Tata” Balladares has been leading the other flip flop-wearing environmental crusaders up and down the steep mountains of Palawan island for the past 15 hours in the hunt for illegal loggers.

One of them is nursing a swollen left arm that was broken a few days earlier when he fell during a reconnaissance trip. He has yet to see a doctor and it is just wrapped in a bandage.

Having slept overnight for just 30 minutes on a forest track, they should be exhausted from the hike.

They could also be forgiven for being frozen with fear: Team members have been murdered to stop their operations and others bear scars from the razored teeth of the chainsaws they seek to confiscate.

But with their targets so close, just a short sprint through ferns and other scrappy lowland rainforest foliage, the adrenaline of the hunt’s imminent climax is surging through them.

The chainsaw starts up again after a few minutes, providing the necessary noise to silence their approach. Tata whispers final instructions. The seven para-enforcers descend like a pack of wolves on the two loggers, who are sawing into the cut-down trunk of an Apitong tree, a critically endangered hardwood that is a favorite among developers in the nearby tourism boom town of El Nido.

As the para-enforcers approach, Tata’s voice roars for the first time all day: “Stop! Stop! Stop! Face down! Face down.”

Illegal logging The loggers, young men wearing ragged clothes similar to their new foes that indicate mirrored lives of poverty, are stunned and simply stand in bewilderment or fear.

The para-enforcers do not brandish any weapons themselves.

But within a few seconds Tata and his men disarm the loggers of their machetes, scan the site to ensure there are no hidden rifles or pistols, and seize the chainsaw.

Tata starts asking the loggers questions, using a commanding but nonthreatening tone of a well-trained policeman or soldier.

“Do you have a permit for the lumber? Is the chainsaw registered?”

The loggers, squatting on the fallen tree trunk with the para-enforcers holding their shoulders, meekly respond in the negative.

“OK, this is how it goes. We are the Palawan NGO Network, or PNNI,” Tata says.

“We’re here in the mountains because according to reports, illegal logging is rampant here.”

The para-enforcers give the loggers a receipt documenting the confiscation of the chainsaw and scurry back into the forest, in the remote district of Mesecoy, after an encounter lasting just a few minutes.

Tata appears unflappable during the gruelling mission, showing no fear or hint of fatigue.

The 50-year-old has had a lifetime of conflict to steel him, having led a private militia for a corrupt general before flipping sides two decades ago.

But during a short meal break of rice and dried fish after the confiscation, the stump of a once-giant Apitong behind him, Tata breaks down as he despairs at the corruption that led him to become a civilian para-enforcer.

“This should be the work of the government but they are not doing their job. Who else is going to stop this if we’re not here,” he says.

Losing the last frontier Palawan is often called the Philippines’ last ecological frontier, as it is home to most of the nation’s remaining forests and its waters are renowned as a global biological hotspot.

With its stunning limestone cliffs, lagoons with turquoise waters and long stretches of untouched beaches, top tourist magazines rate Palawan one of the world’s most beautiful islands.

But it is also a magnet for corrupt businessmen, politicians and security forces seeking to plunder the island’s natural wealth.

With weak or corrupt authorities often unwilling to take on the fight, the Palawan NGO Network Inc., or PNNI, seeks to fill the void.

The group has a strangely corporate name for an anti-establishment band of cash-strapped environmentalists who believe traditional campaigning to save the island’s resources can do little to stop the onslaught of corruption.