The world is in Bacolod to learn what our ancestors already knew

By Francis Allan L. Angelo

Something amazing is happening in the Philippines, and it’s not in Manila.

My feeds are buzzing about a massive event touching down in Bacolod this month. It’s called Terra Madre Asia & Pacific, and it is, quite literally, a world-first for our region.

From November 19 to 23, the city will host the first-ever Asian and Pacific regional edition of Terra Madre, the world’s largest gathering on sustainable food, which has never before been staged outside of its home in Turin, Italy.

Think about that. The global center of the “good, clean, and fair” food movement is shifting its axis, and it chose Bacolod – our “City of Smiles,” the capital of a province already known as the “Organic Capital of the Philippines” – as its new hub.

Over 2,000 delegates from more than 20 countries, from Japan and South Korea to India and Australia, are gathering here. They are farmers, chefs, activists, educators, and Indigenous leaders, all here for a five-day journey with a theme that perfectly captures our archipelago: “From Soil to Sea: A Slow Food Journey Through Tastes and Traditions.”

They’re not here for a tech summit. They’re not here to launch an app. They’re here, as Slow Food Councilor Ramon “Chin Chin” Uy Jr. said, to create a space “where grassroots wisdom can shape policy.”

And here’s the part that gets me: the central thesis of this entire global gathering is that the best, most resilient, and most advanced solutions to our climate crisis and food insecurity aren’t coming from a Silicon Valley lab.

They’re coming from our own backyard. From places like Kalinga.

One of the Filipino leaders at the event is Rowena Gonnay of the Kalinga Tribe. She’s a member of the Unoy Rice Presidium, a group working to save 18 heirloom, climate-resilient rice varieties from extinction.

Think about that. During the “Green Revolution,” we were told these native grains were obsolete, pushed aside for “high-yield” commercial rice. But those new varieties demand chemical fertilizers, pesticides, and perfect conditions – all things that fail spectacularly in the face of a typhoon, a drought, or a pest invasion.

The Kalinga’s Unoy rice, on the other hand, is already adapted. It’s drought-resistant. It’s cold-tolerant. It thrives in the mountains. It is, in every meaningful sense, a piece of high-performance, time-tested technology.

This is the Philippines teaching a masterclass.

‘Future food’ vs the real tech

Let’s be honest: when most people think of “future food,” they picture a very specific, sterile, techno-fantasy. We think of venture capitalists pouring billions into lab-grown, cell-cultured meat, or vertical farms humming under purple LED lights. We’ve been sold a narrative that technology, in its shiniest, most disruptive form, will save us from the mess we’ve made.

That’s a dangerously flawed story.

Our current industrial food system – the one these tech solutions are trying to “disrupt” – is a primary villain in the climate story. It’s responsible for as much as a third of all global greenhouse gas emissions. It’s the single biggest driver of biodiversity loss, turning vibrant ecosystems into sterile monocultures. And frankly, it’s not even profitable; it only survives because of massive government subsidies, while the public pays the multi-billion dollar “external” costs in healthcare and environmental cleanup.

And the high-tech “solutions”? They might not be any better.

A recent, headline-grabbing study from UC Davis suggested that the environmental impact of scaling up lab-grown meat could be 4 to 25 times worse for the climate than conventional beef. Why? Because, at least for now, it relies on an incredibly energy-intensive “pharmaceutical-grade” process to create the cell-culture media.

We are, it seems, trying to solve an energy and pollution crisis by inventing a new process that requires even more energy and creates new pollution. It’s madness.

Now, compare that to the “technology” being showcased in Bacolod.

Compare it to Aruna Tirkey in India, who is reintroducing ingredients like mahua flowers, empowering tribal farmers. Or Gusti Ayu Komang Sri Mahayuni in Bali, who leads community gardens and seed exchanges.

This is what real “R&D” looks like. Agroecology – the science of working with nature, not against it – is the original “climate-smart” tech. It’s a decentralized, open-source operating system for human survival. It sequesters carbon in the soil instead of releasing it. It fosters biodiversity instead of destroying it. It builds community resilience instead of corporate dependence.

It has no need for a patent. It just needs our attention.

The revolution will be farmed (and led by youth)

I know what some people are thinking. “This is all very romantic, but it’s just a museum piece. Tradition is dying. Young people don’t want to farm; they want to be influencers.”

That, frankly, is a lazy and deeply inaccurate stereotype.

If you look closer at the delegates coming to Bacolod, you’ll see the most exciting part of this entire movement: it’s being driven by a new generation. This isn’t about nostalgia; it’s about survival, and it’s being led by entrepreneurs.

Look at Plorentina Dessy, a young Dayak woman in Indonesia. She’s not just “preserving” traditions; she’s actively teaching other Indigenous youth how their ancestral food systems are the key to protecting their culture and their forest.

Look at Pasang Sherpa from the Himalayas. He’s using the Slow Food Youth Network in Nepal to link food, culture, and climate education, inspiring his peers to see farming as a tool for dignity.

How about Lee Ayu in Thailand. He’s building a fair, Indigenous-led economy around coffee and agroecology, engaging hundreds of Akha farming families. He’s brewing, as the article I read said, “a silent revolution, one cup at a time.”

And right here in the Philippines, young leaders like Alicia Kate Bayangan, Daniel Jason Maches, and Jamar Garciaare proving you don’t have to choose between tradition and entrepreneurship. They are blending heritage, forest protection, and modern climate awareness into viable, sustainable businesses.

These young people are not looking backward. They are the avant-garde. They understand something the tech-bros don’t: that true wealth is a healthy ecosystem, a stable climate, and a strong community. They are reclaiming their culinary heritage not as a hobby, but as a form of activism.

The smartest investment on earth

So, if this Indigenous, agroecological approach is so great – if it’s a proven, youth-led, climate-positive, biodiversity-friendly technology – why isn’t it the dominant system?

Because for generations, we haven’t just ignored it. We’ve actively tried to stamp it out. We’ve stolen land, broken treaties, and forced assimilation, all while subsidizing the very industrial systems that are killing the planet.

This brings me to the most important angle of all. This isn’t just a food story. It’s a policy story.

The partnership between the Slow Food network and the International Fund for Agricultural Development (IFAD), a key supporter of the Indigenous delegates, is more than just a nice collaboration. It’s a model for our future. It shows what happens when a major global financial institution realizes that investing in Indigenous communities is the most powerful climate action it can take.

Here is the most critical fact you need to know: Indigenous peoples make up less than 5% of the world’s population, yet they manage or hold tenure over 25% of the world’s land surface. And that land, crucially, holds the vast majority of our planet’s remaining biodiversity. They are, by any measure, the most effective conservationists on Earth.

And here’s the economic kicker, for those who only speak the language of ROI.

A landmark report by the World Resources Institute (WRI) analyzed the cost of securing Indigenous land rights. The findings are staggering. The cost is minimal, but the returns are astronomical. Securing Indigenous tenure in the Amazon, for example, is 5 to 29 times cheaper as a carbon mitigation strategy than high-tech solutions like carbon capture and storage.

The total economic benefits – from carbon sequestration, reduced pollution, clean water, and more – are in the billions, and in some cases, trillions of dollars. The cost of securing the land? It amounts to, at most, 1% of those benefits.

It is, without a doubt, the single best, most cost-effective, and most just investment we can make for the climate.

Stop funding the problem. Start funding the solution. Secure Indigenous land rights.

This is what’s really on the table in Bacolod next week: It’s a high-level collaboration between local government, national agencies like the Department of Tourism, and a global movement. It’s a celebration, yes – with taste workshops, a Slow Drinks area, and a vibrant market – but it’s also a serious political and economic proposition.

The world is finally waking up to a truth that Indigenous peoples have never forgotten. The path to a sustainable, just, and resilient future doesn’t lie in a futuristic fantasy. It lies in the ancestral wisdom that knows how to live in balance with nature – “From Soil to Sea.”

As Rowena Gonnay of the Kalinga said, “Our food carries the memory of our ancestors and the promise of a fairer future. Protecting it means protecting who we are.”

The “Future of Food” isn’t a sci-fi dream. It’s an heirloom seed. It’s a healthy forest. It’s a protected ancestral domain.

The answers we’re desperately searching for are already here. They’re being shared, right now, in our own backyard.

The only question is: Are we finally brave enough to listen?