News Desk
MANILA, Philippines — Ramon Delgado still remembers the days when he could sail out from Zambales, drop his nets near Scarborough Shoal, and haul in enough fish to feed his family for a week. That was before 2012, before Chinese ships showed up and turned his fishing grounds into a no-go zone. Now, at 52, he’s lucky to scrape by on what he catches closer to shore—smaller hauls, leaner times. “They took it from us,” he said, squinting out at the horizon. “And they’re not giving it back.”
Ramon’s not alone. Across the Philippines and Vietnam, fishermen are feeling the squeeze as China tightens its grip on the South China Sea. The tipping point came into sharp focus on Feb. 18, when a Chinese helicopter buzzed a Philippine government plane just 10 feet away over Scarborough Shoal, a move that nearly ended in disaster. The pilot’s plea—“You’re endangering lives”—echoed over the radio, a stark reminder of how far Beijing will go to stake its claim. But for folks like Ramon, the real danger isn’t just in the skies. It’s in the empty nets and the disappearing livelihoods.
China’s been at this for years, claiming nearly the whole South China Sea with its “nine-dash line”—a boundary so sweeping it’s been laughed out of court by a 2016 international tribunal. Didn’t matter. Beijing ignored the ruling and kept building—artificial islands sprouting up across the Spratlys and Paracels, bristling with military hardware. Scarborough Shoal, 120 miles off Luzon, fell under China’s shadow after a tense standoff in 2012. Since then, Filipino boats venturing too close get chased off by Chinese coast guard vessels, sometimes with water cannons or worse.
The economic fallout is brutal. The shoal alone used to supply fish worth millions to the Philippines—tuna, mackerel, snapper—that fed local markets and families like Ramon’s. Now, with Chinese boats overfishing the area and blocking access, that’s gone. A 2023 study pegged the losses at $100 million a year for Filipino fishermen, and that’s just one slice of the pie. Vietnam’s taken a hit too, its fleets harassed near the Paracels, while Malaysia and Indonesia watch China’s survey ships nose into waters rich with untapped oil and gas.
It’s not just small fry feeling the pinch. The South China Sea is a highway for global trade—$3 trillion worth of goods flow through annually, from oil tankers feeding Japan to container ships bound for Europe. China’s bases, like the ones on Mischief Reef with their radar and runways, cast a long shadow over those routes. “They’re positioning to control it all,” said Maria Santos, an economist at the University of the Philippines. “If they can choke off access, they’ve got leverage over half of Asia.”
Beijing’s playbook isn’t subtle. Seismic surveys in disputed zones—think Malaysia’s Luconia Shoals or Indonesia’s Natuna Islands—come with threats to anyone drilling without China’s say-so. Vietnam’s had oil projects stalled after Chinese pressure; the Philippines shelved gas exploration near Reed Bank after similar warnings. “It’s economic coercion dressed up as territorial rights,” Santos said. And it’s working—ASEAN nations are hesitant to push back too hard, wary of China’s trade clout.
For fishermen, though, it’s less about geopolitics and more about survival. In coastal towns like Masinloc, where Ramon lives, the mood’s turned sour. “We used to go out for days, come back with boats full,” said Jose Panganiban, a 45-year-old boat captain. “Now we’re lucky to break even.” Some have given up, selling their boats or moving to Manila for factory jobs. Others risk the trip anyway, dodging Chinese patrols for a shot at a decent catch. Last year, one boat didn’t make it back—rammed by a Chinese vessel, its crew rescued but shaken.
The Philippine government’s fighting back, sort of. After the Feb. 18 flyby, President Marcos Jr. lodged another protest—number 189, by some counts—and leaned harder into the U.S. alliance. Joint naval drills with America, Japan, and Australia have stepped up, a show of force meant to keep China honest. But on the ground, it’s a different story. “We can’t fish with warships,” Ramon said. “We need our waters back, not just promises.”
China’s not budging. Its foreign ministry called the shoal incident a “lawful defense” of its territory, brushing off Manila’s complaints. Meanwhile, its fishing fleets—some say state-backed—keep trawling disputed waters, hauling in catches that dwarf what locals can manage. Overfishing’s already thinned stocks; a 2024 report warned the region’s fisheries could collapse in a decade if this keeps up.
The ripple effects go beyond Southeast Asia. If China locks down the sea, global supply chains could snag—think higher oil prices, delayed goods. Japan and South Korea, big players in the region, are watching nervously. The U.S. keeps sailing through, its freedom of navigation ops a poke in China’s eye, but it’s not enough to turn the tide for fishermen or small economies.
Back in Zambales, Ramon’s not optimistic. He’s teaching his son to fish, but he wonders if there’ll be anything left to catch. “They’re taking our future,” he said, nodding toward the sea. “And we’re just supposed to watch?” For now, that’s all he can do—watch, and wait, as China’s shadow grows longer.
