‘Imagine the impact of barangay-scale deployment: green jobs for upland technicians, coastal fabricators, student co-ops assembling MFC pods, and educators sparking curiosity. This isn’t about importing brilliance; it’s about harnessing local stubbornness.’
IN a country where power bills spike faster than outrage, we don’t need slogans. We need voltage.
So when a friend from DOST hinted at something brighter than a Marvel reboot, I bit. Spoiler: it wasn’t a superhero. It was bacteria.
No cape, no press kit — just Microbial Fuel Cells (MFCs).
These compost-fed, waste-powered cells are quietly defiant, turning dirty water into light and sludge into our own energy independence.
It isn’t just about electricity; it’s about reclaiming our future. This is Filipinnovation.
This isn’t R&D theater; it’s resistance wired to wet soil.
In Taguig, DOST scientists are feeding mushroom compost into microbial reactors, exploring how organic scraps can spark power.
In Los Baños, UPLB students are fueling flames with trash.
And in Cagayan de Oro, Xavier University students, powered by grit more than grants, have summoned hydrogen in a lab.
At Mapúa, young minds are pairing indigenous bacteria with clean water technology, scrubbing dyes, mapping polluted farmland, and generating electricity.
But beyond the watts, they’re driving accountability, because real energy doesn’t just run devices — it drives dignity.
The prototypes are small, and the path to mass adoption is muddy. Yet, Filipino scientists are literally breaking the mold, swapping foreign membranes for local fibers and replacing imported agents with sugarcane waste. This cuts costs and helps us claim control.
We’re not chasing unicorns; we’re building banana-peel chargers with TESDA-trained hands. This is power with provenance, built for Filipinos, by Filipinos.
This spirit of self-reliance isn’t new. In 2017, while leading Mohur Inc., we built one of the first homegrown Anti-Money Laundering (AML) and Digital Customer Due Diligence systems. Tested and cleared by the BSP and AMLC before “eKYC” was even buzzworthy, we called it urgent, and we built it ourselves.
Today, the global MFC market stands at USD 15.9 million, expected to double by 2030, with Asia-Pacific leading the charge. If we localize materials like bamboo, coconut shell, and clay, and train local hands to build and maintain these systems, we’re not just innovating. We’re building resilience, creating livelihoods, and reclaiming our energy future.
Imagine the impact of barangay-scale deployment: green jobs for upland technicians, coastal fabricators, student co-ops assembling MFC pods, and educators sparking curiosity. This isn’t about importing brilliance; it’s about harnessing local stubbornness.
That stubbornness runs in my family.
My ancestor, Fr. Jose Burgos, didn’t just pray for reform; he wrote for it, fought for it, and died for it. His words lit a path that Dr. Jose Rizal followed, eyes open and pen ready. Their legacy isn’t academic; it’s electric.
A century later, my uncle Joe Burgos — “Tito Boy” to us —sparked a different revolution. During Martial Law, when truth was contraband, he printed it anyway. Malaya wasn’t just a newspaper; it was a voltage spike in the dark.
That current still runs, flowing through labs and off-grid barangays. We’ve always lit our own way in the dark.
As Business Development Consultant and Official Representative of Gap Drone Australia in the Philippines, I’m working on something just as vital: access.
This means exploring how air and earth-borne technologies can empower communities, strengthen local industries, and stretch what’s possible, all powered by Filipino grit.
Let’s picture this:
• A cargo drone lands on Calayan Island, not for spectacle, but to deliver biocells, food packs, backup light, and medicine, its rotors humming with hope.
• In Barangay Macasandig, Cagayan de Oro, a child finishes her homework under a lamp powered by banana peels and rainwater.
• A public high school’s computer lab hums during a brownout, thanks to a hydrogen pod built from kitchen waste and local skill in Tanay, Rizal.
• A TESDA-trained neighbor — once a bike mechanic — keeps an OFW household’s lights steady with a self-contained MFC unit in a quiet barangay outside San Carlos City, Negros Occidental.
These aren’t dreams. They’re diagrams, dispatches, instructions waiting for courage.
The next revolution won’t shout. It won’t march. It will hum — low and steady — in volts and quiet victories. Built not by billionaires, but by barangays.
It’s more than power. It’s the will to share our country’s future. That’s Filipinnovation.
