Planet first, people next, profit last

By Herman M. Lagon

Ron Garan saw Earth from space for real—not just in science books or videos. It looked like it was glowing. Like it was alive. But what surprised him most? How thin the air is that keeps us all safe. Just one blue line between us and forever darkness. One layer. That is all we have. And yet we live like it is indestructible.

Down here, we act like Earth has no limits. We act like forests grow back in days, oceans heal themselves, and clean air is automatic. But the truth is, Earth does not need us to survive. We need Earth. Earth will go on—with or without us. The question is whether it will still be a place where people, especially the poor and the young, can thrive. Garan puts it simply: it is time to reorder our priorities. Planet first. People next. Profit last.

That hits close to home. Climate change does not need explaining here. It shows up every rainy season, loud and clear. Yolanda was not just a disaster—it taught us to live, learn, and parent with more care. According to the 2023 Global Climate Risk Index, we are among the most vulnerable countries on Earth. This is not a distant issue. We are already living the consequences.

And still, we live like everything is fine. Markets are full of plastic. Trees and fields fall for roads, flats, and malls. Some LGUs celebrate tree-planting in the morning and approve mining permits in the afternoon. It is not because we do not care. It is because our systems reward the short-term and punish those who think ahead. In a world addicted to numbers—GDP, ratings, shares—slow things like tree roots or coral reefs barely register.

What Garan is calling for is not a call to be sentimental. It is a call to act like crew members of this spaceship called Earth. You don’t punch holes in your own lifeboat. Sustainability is not about being a tree-hugger. It is about making sure our kids, our farmers, and our builders still have the basics to live a good life—30 years from now and beyond.

Weak sustainability—the idea that we can keep growing our economy and fix the damage later—is failing. Once a forest is gone, no amount of likes or innovation can bring back its balance. Once the sea warms too much, no coral will grow. Bonnedahl and Heikkurinen (2019), writing on sustainability, remind us that we cannot treat the environment like a fund we can just top up. We are drawing down faster than nature can recover.

But there is hope. Change does not have to be grand. In Anilao, Iloilo, a fisherfolk group turned mangrove planting into both conservation and livelihood. In Northern Luzon, a student-led refill campaign cut school plastic waste by 80%. These are not international headlines, but they matter. These are quiet revolutions that restore what matters, one community at a time.

The deeper challenge is cultural. For many, “progress” means buildings, malls, and imported things. I once asked a student to draw his ideal future. He sketched a smoky factory beside a dying tree. “Factories make us rich,” he said. And maybe that is what we have taught them. That development is about things, not quality of life.

We need to ask different questions. What kind of future do we really want? Is it wider roads or drinkable rivers? Is it more malls or fewer flood-prone areas? It is good that DepEd is adding environmental lessons—but we need more. Kids should learn that we do not have to choose between dignity and sustainability. We can have both.

And this shift is not alien to us. Bayanihan is already an environmental principle. Shared work, shared gains. Our Lumad and Aeta communities already live by this: taking only what they need, caring for the land that feeds them. These are not outdated ways. These are blueprints for a future that works.

Still, let us be honest. Personal action matters—but only to a point. You can bring your tumbler and ban plastic at home, but it means little if giant corporations dump chemicals into rivers unchecked. According to the UN Environment Programme, what really turns the tide is policy, not just preference. We need leaders who understand ecology. We need citizens who ask questions. We need consumers who choose wisely.

Because this is not just about the planet. It is about justice. When disasters hit, it is the poor who lose everything first. When fish die, it is the small-scale fisherfolk who go hungry. The World Bank warns that without climate action, over 130 million people may be pushed into poverty by 2030. Climate change does not just threaten landscapes. It deepens inequality.

One thing I carry from my Ignatian formation background—not as theology, but as a habit—is discernment. Ask the deeper questions. What matters? What endures? What are we here to protect? These are questions we must bring into our classrooms, our LGU planning sessions, even our family dinners. Because the “right time” to care already passed. The new question is: what now?

We start where we are. Buy local. Plant a seed. Speak up in a meeting. Ask what your school, office, barangay is doing for the planet. It may feel small. But small acts stack up. They echo. They ripple. From above, they might even shine.

Ron Garan’s message was not for astronauts. It was for all of us—farmers, teachers, drivers, vendors, officials, students. There is no backup Earth. This planet will go on. The question is: will we still be here to live well on it?

If we keep ignoring Earth’s warnings, it will heal—eventually. But not in a way that includes us.

Let us choose to stay on board. Let us act like we want this ship to sail.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a ”student of and for life” who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.