Keynote Address of Senator Loren Legarda: Cultural Thoughts and Trajectories

Excellencies, distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen: magandang araw sa inyong lahat.

Two thousand years ago, in the highlands of pre-colonial Philippines, a child stood at the edge of a terrace, his toes curled over the ledge. Below him, his grandfather waded knee-deep in the paddies, tending to a vast staircase of earth, mud walls carved with precision, rising along the mountain’s natural contours to altitudes and inclines unmatched anywhere else in the world.

The child does not yet understand what he is inheriting. How could he? No one can see two millennia ahead. And yet, here we stand, two thousand years later, bearing witness to these same terraces that are nourished by the same ancient knowledge passed down through ritual and reverence: a masterfully tuned agro-ecosystem, its layout shaped by careful zoning and planning, its fertile soil maintained through extensive conservation techniques, and its balance controlled through an organic science not tainted by modern chemicals.

The world around them has changed. But these terraces remain through the quiet brilliance of a people who, long before the world had the language for it, understood sustainability, engineering, and balance. And now, in a time when modern societies search for solutions to climate crises, food security, and ecological resilience, the world turns back to these ancient marvels—to learn.

This is the Rice Terraces of the Philippine Cordilleras, what UNESCO calls a “priceless contribution of Philippine ancestors to humanity.”
Today, as we gather to envision our path forward, I offer this thought: We cannot possibly fully grasp the world that awaits two thousand years ahead, just as that child could not imagine ours. But what we choose to preserve today—our knowledge, our traditions, our stories—will ripple through time, shaping lives long after we are gone, just as the wisdom of the past continues to guide us now.

In an era where power is measured in economic might, the Philippines wields a different strength—a soft power that endures rather than conquers, that inspires rather than imposes. Within the lessons of our ancestors may be found the answers to questions future generations have yet to ask. And in that, perhaps, lies our greatest advantage.

As a four-term Senator, this advocacy has been at the heart of my work: preserving our culture, sharing it with the world, and ensuring that it serves a greater purpose beyond ourselves. This is why I have championed laws that do more than just celebrate our heritage; they institutionalize its preservation and ensure its continuity. These include the National Cultural Heritage Act of 2009 and its amendatory law, the Cultural Mapping Law, which mandates a comprehensive inventory of our tangible and intangible heritage, ensuring what remains today will not be forgotten tomorrow.

Alongside these, we enacted the Philippine Tropical Fabrics Law, promoting the use of indigenous textiles for official uniforms and fostering the growth of our local weaving industry. We also passed the Gabaldon School Buildings Conservation Act, ensuring the restoration and adaptive reuse of historic schoolhouses.

Because traditions, once lost, are nearly impossible to reclaim.

Through our efforts, we have documented vanishing cultural treasures, practices, traditions, epics, and narratives that shape our national identity. Books we’ve supported have been a powerful medium for this work, alongside instructional resources for students, researchers, and cultural workers. We have also made these more accessible through television programs, such as Dayaw, Maaram, Usapang Wika, and Buhay na Buhay, that bring indigenous traditions, intangible heritage, and Philippine languages into the public consciousness. Meanwhile, numerous museums and galleries serve as learning hubs, elevating the scientific, economic, and artistic dimensions of our craft.

In gastronomy, we promoted the Slow Food Movement and culinary mapping that celebrates indigenous ingredients and empowers local communities. In music, we’ve revived traditional ensembles like the rondalla through camps and training while strengthening support for the Philippine Philharmonic Orchestra. In architectural heritage, we have restored physical landmarks such as Bahay Prudencia Fule in Laguna, Barasoain Church in Bulacan, and the Balay nga Bato, the Old Capitol and the San Juan de Nepomuceno Church in Antique—structures that stood as silent witnesses to our nation’s history and triumphs.

But let me be clear about our purpose: culture is not mere adornment, it is a vital engine of livelihood and economic growth. The hands that keep it alive must be equipped with the necessary infrastructure, resources, and market access to sustain their craft as a viable profession. Anything less is a betrayal of the very legacy we seek to protect.

This is why we have championed initiatives such as the National Arts and Crafts Fair, which integrates micro, small, and medium enterprises into the formal economy by linking indigenous artisans and community-based enterprises with larger markets. We strengthened the Philippine textile industry by establishing weaving centers and cotton processing facilities to support raw material production, and natural dye centers in remote barangays, reducing reliance on synthetic imports while promoting environmentally responsible production.

At the core of these efforts is education. Culture survives when it is intentionally taught, practiced, and passed down. Through the Schools of Living Traditions (SLTs) we have established, thirty (30) of which I actively support, cultural masters directly mentor the next generation in immersive, community-based learning environments.

Linguistic diversity is also a vital dimension of this continuity. We have championed the Atlas ng Wika, a landmark linguistic mapping project, alongside establishing language markers nationwide, honoring the 135 languages spoken across the Philippines, 40 of which are already endangered and facing possible extinction.

Preservation alone, however, is not enough. Culture must move beyond our shores so the world may witness and understand the depth and richness of the Filipino spirit.

A cornerstone of this vision is Sentro Rizal, an international network of cultural centers in Philippine embassies and consulates promoting Filipino arts, language, and identity. Building on this, we also championed the Philippine Studies Program in 2016 to deepen global academic engagement with Filipino culture and history. Today, it has expanded to over 20 universities worldwide, creating a formal structure for scholars to study and elevate the Filipino experience within the global intellectual community.

For 51 years, the Venice Biennale, the world’s most prestigious contemporary art and architecture exhibition, carried on without the Philippines. In 2015, we ended that silence. Leading our historic comeback, I ensured it was a strategic reentry of the Philippines into global artistic discourse. Our pavilion challenged perceptions, positioning Filipino artists at the center of international dialogue.

This year, I am excited about the Philippines taking center stage as Guest of Honour at the Frankfurter Buchmesse, the world’s largest book fair—a milestone secured through persistence and conviction. For years, we watched as other nations, including our Southeast Asian neighbor Indonesia, claim this spotlight. I asked: Why not the Philippines? Surely, a people whose words toppled a 300-year colonial rule and shaped revolutions belong among the world’s greatest voices. Under the theme “The Imagination Peoples the Air,” inspired by Dr. Jose Rizal, we aim to utilize this as a gateway for Filipino publishing and make our writers known to global audiences.

For Rizal was, above all, a storyteller—a weaver of truths that moved hearts and minds, crossing the boundaries of time and place. In his footsteps, we too are a nation of storytellers, using our voices to claim space in the global imagination, foster understanding, and carve pathways for intellectual and creative dialogue.

This cultural pride is also reflected in the Philippine textile collection and indigenous artifacts Rizal entrusted to his friend, Dr. Adolf Bastian, the first director of the Berlin Ethnological Museum. During a visit in 2013, I marveled at this collection—a Bagobo blouse, a Manobo jacket, a Mandaya abaca baby carrier, and other artifacts showcasing our people’s ingenuity.

In line with this timeless legacy, I am tirelessly working to secure the Protestant vicarage in Wilhelmsfeld, Germany, where Rizal found refuge in 1886 and penned the final chapters of Noli Me Tangere—a testament to how spaces, like stories, hold the power to shape history.

Ladies and gentlemen, a nation’s pursuit of progress rings hollow without the soul of its heritage, and no vision of development can ever be complete if culture is left out of the conversation.

Yes, I confess, this is personal to me as well. My mother, Bessie Gella Bautista, sang operas, collected art, and lived and breathed culture. As a little girl, I was surrounded by artistic luminaries who shaped our national identity, and frequented museums and art spaces, molding the lens through which I view culture today. It guided my hands as I wrote my thesis on Manansala’s paintings as an undergraduate student at the University of the Philippines, and my voice as a journalist, bearing witness to the lives of indigenous groups, rural communities, and everyday Filipinos: their language, kinship, music, and traditions. I saw them not just in bloom, but often in decline. And as a result, I did not merely report on these realities; I testified to them.

This is why I fought for the creation of the standalone Senate Committee on Culture and Arts, why, year after year, I have defended the budgets of our cultural agencies, and why I supported the creation of the Office of Cultural Diplomacy in the Department of Foreign Affairs.

However, as we celebrate our culture, I would be remiss in my advocacy if I did not acknowledge the pressing reality of our time: the climate crisis. For a nation consistently ranked among the most vulnerable in the World Risk Index, the stakes are nothing less than survival. As UNDRR Global Champion for Resilience, I am committed to advancing sustainable, inclusive, and science-driven solutions.

Integrating the wisdom of our cultural heritage into climate action offers a promising path to resilience. This is why we have partnered with state universities to document indigenous ecological knowledge, resulting in the formal study and publication of traditional forest, coastal, and upland resource management systems—a critical resource for integrating indigenous strategies into national conservation policies and disaster resilience efforts.

This is the trajectory I envision, a future where the Philippines wields its soft power with conviction, to elevate what is inherently ours, and to champion something uniquely, undeniably Filipino.

Two thousand years ago, a young child stood before the vast, intricate terraces carved by his ancestors. He did not yet understand what he was inheriting. But today, we do.

We know that culture does not survive by accident, it endures because generations choose to protect it. The terraces were not shaped by time alone, but by hands that toiled, minds that innovated, and people who knew innovation and preservation go hand in hand.

This is why I persist. Why I champion cultural diplomacy as a force that defines our place in the world. Why I believe in the power of our stories, language, art, and traditions, for they may hold answers we don’t fully understand until the moment demands them.

And so, I ask: Two thousand years from now, what will they see? Will they find the knowledge we safeguarded and carried forward? Or will they see nothing at all? A culture not lost to time but to indifference.

Because we let it slip away. Not stolen. Not erased. But abandoned.

My dear friends, the weight of that responsibility, in this very moment, rests in our hands.

Thank you.