Ecological Footprint

Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD

How many hectares of land and sea does it take to carry you?

This is not a riddle or a metaphorical question—it’s a real one. And it’s one we all need to ask ourselves, whether we’re farmers in Ilocos, students in Manila, office workers in Makati, or government officials crafting environmental policy.

This is the heart of what we call an ecological footprint—a measure of how much land, sea, and resources are required to support your daily life: the food you eat, the clothes you wear, the electricity you use, the garbage you throw, and even the air you breathe. It’s about your share of Earth. Your “footprint” shows how much space the planet needs to give you what you consume and absorb what you discard.

If you’re eating a bowl of rice, biking to school, and turning off unused lights at home—your footprint is modest. But if you’re driving alone in a car, leaving the air conditioner on all day, eating meat three times daily, or frequently flying for leisure—your ecological debt grows larger. Much larger than the space you physically occupy.

On average, scientists say the planet can only sustainably provide 1.8 hectares per person. But the global average consumption is about 2.0 hectares. That may sound small—but it’s already a problem. It means we are overusing the Earth’s resources. We’re borrowing from future generations. And sadly, we’re not paying back.

In my case, I tried a simple online quiz that calculates your ecological footprint based on your habits. I thought I was doing well—I eat more vegetables than meat, I recycle, and I often use public transport. But then the quiz asked about air travel. That’s when my score jumped. As someone who travels frequently for academic conferences, national consultations, and governance work, I realized that flying—even for good causes—burns a lot of carbon. Each round-trip flight can consume as much as 1 to 3 hectares worth of ecological space per person.

When the results came in, my ecological footprint was estimated at 14 hectares. I sat there, humbled. That’s 14 hectares of Earth working hard just to sustain my lifestyle.

But what does 14 hectares even look like? That’s about 140,000 square meters. Imagine a large school campus, several barangays, or a whole subdivision—all dedicated just to support one person. Multiply that by millions, and you begin to understand why we are experiencing climate change, biodiversity loss, water shortages, and food insecurity.

Let’s look around the world. In some countries like the UAE, each person uses over 10 hectares on average. In the U.S., about 9.7. Canada and Australia are close behind. Meanwhile, in countries like Bangladesh, Cambodia, and Somalia, people survive on less than 0.6 hectares.

The Philippines, on paper, averages about 1.0 hectare per person. That sounds reasonable. But here’s the problem: with our growing population, urban expansion, pollution, and land conversion, our available ecological capacity is only 0.6 hectare per person. That’s a deficit of 0.4 hectare each. And we’re already seeing the consequences—landslides in mountain towns, floods in urban centers, coral bleaching in our seas, fish kills in lakes, and extreme heat that our elders and children suffer most.

Nature is no longer absorbing our habits. It’s reacting to them.

You might say, “But Doc John, I’m just one person—how can I make a difference?”

Let me answer with a story.

I once visited a fishing community in Batangas. One father told me, “Sir, kahit anim na oras kami sa dagat, halos wala nang nahuhuli.” I looked at his net—small fish, barely enough for dinner. They weren’t overfishing because they were greedy. They were desperate. The fish no longer had time to grow. The sea could no longer recover from human demand. Our oceans are struggling because we are not giving them rest.

Our cities are another story. In Metro Manila, modern conveniences are abundant—but at what cost? We consume electricity, import fuel, process thousands of tons of garbage daily, and build on lands that used to be rice fields or forests. And where do these resources come from? Usually from the provinces. Meanwhile, the environmental burden—pollution, health hazards, flooding—hits the poorest communities hardest.

That’s why understanding our ecological footprint isn’t just about the environment—it’s also about justice. One wealthy household can consume more electricity and water than an entire rural barangay. That’s not just unsustainable—it’s unfair.

But here’s the good news: we can reduce our ecological footprint. We can make better choices—both individually and collectively.

Start with food. Eating more locally grown fruits, vegetables, and rice reduces your impact significantly. Try to limit red meat, which takes up massive land and water resources to produce.

At home, switch off lights when not in use. Use fans instead of air conditioning. Collect rainwater. Plant native trees. Support local products. These may seem small, but they add up—especially when practiced by millions.

Transportation is a big one. Walk if you can. Bike if it’s safe. Use public transportation whenever possible. Advocate for better sidewalks, bike lanes, and cleaner mass transit. Climate action is not just personal—it’s political.

And yes, be mindful of air travel. When it’s necessary, find ways to offset it. Some organizations offer carbon-offset programs that plant trees or fund renewable energy for every flight taken.

The real shift happens when we reframe our thinking. The Earth doesn’t exist to serve us endlessly. We are part of it—not above it. We are not its owners. We are stewards. The forests, rivers, and oceans that we pollute are the same systems that give us life.

So, I ask you again:

How many hectares of land and sea does it take to carry you?

Know your number. Reflect on it. Then act. Not out of guilt—but out of love for this country, for your family, and for the generations that will walk these lands after us.

Let’s make our footprints lighter. Let’s give the Earth—and each other—room to breathe.