by Joshua Santos

Manila—In the Philippine capital of Manila, the Pasig River no longer resembles the lifeline it once was—a vital waterway coursing into Manila Bay. Today, it bears more resemblance to a conveyor belt for plastic waste. Food containers, bottles, and sachets float downstream daily, spilling into the sea and dispersing around the globe.

Environmental groups and research institutes have identified the Pasig as one of the most polluted rivers in the world. By one estimate, this single river accounts for 6.43% of global ocean plastic pollution. It has become a microcosm of the Philippines’ broader environmental crisis: over 1,000 government-hired river cleaners are deployed daily, yet their efforts are easily outpaced by the rate of waste generation. The country produces over 60,000 metric tons of garbage each day—nearly a quarter of it plastic.

Marine ecosystems are paying the price. In the Coral Triangle—one of the world's most biodiverse marine regions—fish are increasingly found with microplastics in their systems. And those same fish eventually end up on the plates of Filipino families.

The problem, however, runs deeper than careless littering. The Philippines’ plastic crisis is less about individual behavior and more about systemic failure. In 2001, the country enacted a Waste Management Act to ban open dumping and establish a nationwide system of waste classification and treatment. More than two decades later, the law remains largely symbolic—another environmental promise decomposing in the trash heap of poor enforcement and regulatory neglect.

Fueling the surge in plastic consumption is a harsh economic reality. In a country where at least 20% of the population lives below the poverty line, consumers often opt for the cheapest available products—those sold in small, single-use sachets. The Philippines has become emblematic of the “sachet economy,” with some 163 million sachets used daily. Corporations, responding to demand at the margins of subsistence, offer ever smaller and cheaper packaging. But many of those packets never make it to a bin. Instead, they end up in rivers, oceans, and even coral reefs.

The government has had opportunities to stem the tide. According to environmental advocates, around 70% of Filipinos lack access to any form of waste treatment facility. That figure reflects more than just an infrastructure gap—it points to a lack of political will. In the absence of funding and accountability, local governments and agencies appear to have settled into a model where “governance” is equated with cleanup, rather than prevention.

Even milestones like World Environment Day do little more than offer a brief spotlight. Advocacy groups continue to call for more decisive policy action, but to many observers, the Philippine government’s response to ocean plastic pollution looks more like a performance of control over a system that’s already slipped beyond it. Plastic-clogged coastlines and microplastic-laden fish remain disturbingly absent from the country’s declared emergencies.

In the Philippines, public anxiety over pollution is rising. But official action has failed to keep pace. For the world’s largest contributor of ocean plastic, the real crisis may not just be plastic—but an entrenched dependence on dysfunctional governance.