In 1998, five women began clearing trash from a vacant lot in Manila. Nearly three decades later, their small cleanup has grown into a national movement — and a finalist for one of the world's most prestigious environmental awards.
That group became the Mother Earth Foundation, a Philippine charity now shortlisted for the 2026 Earthshot Prize, the environmental award founded by Prince William. The foundation's mission strikes at a staggering problem: the Philippines produces more ocean plastic than any other country on Earth. The Pasig River, which runs through Manila, is among the most polluted waterways in the world, and every storm season brings images of plastic washing over shorelines and clogging flooded streets.
The foundation's answer is deceptively simple. "We manage the waste where it is generated," says Sonia Mendoza, the co-founder and chair. "The people are made responsible for the waste that they generate." Instead of relying on big centralised systems, the group turns ordinary villages into working models of waste management that adapt to how people actually live.
At the heart of the problem is the sachet — the small plastic packet used to buy tiny amounts of shampoo, soy sauce and cooking oil. Some 855 billion sachets are thrown away globally every year, and the Philippines alone uses 164 million per day. "They are not recyclable and they are not compostable," Mendoza says. "Most of them are not collected because they have no value for junk shops. So most of them end up in waterways." About 70 per cent of Filipinos lack proper access to disposal facilities in the first place.
So Mother Earth partnered with sari-sari stores — the tiny community shops found in nearly every Philippine village — to sell everyday goods in bulk rather than in single-use plastic. Since January 2024, 40 such stores have diverted more than 671,000 pieces of plastic waste, including 288,000 sachets, by encouraging customers to bring their own containers. It's a return to old habits. "When I was a little girl, I used to bring my container to a store to get sugar, cooking oil," Mendoza recalls. One flagship store in Malabon now even has a vending machine that dispenses goods for a five-peso coin — as long as you bring your own container.
The same approach built a model city. In San Fernando, a city of nearly 350,000 people north of Manila, the foundation has worked with local government since 2012 to divert 89 per cent of waste away from landfills — the highest rate in the country. In that city, 63 per cent of waste is composted or processed so it doesn't release methane, and 30 per cent is recycled. What's left is mostly single-use plastic that can't be reused at all.
Mendoza believes the model can spread beyond the Philippines to other Asian cities drowning in plastic. By meeting people where they are — and trusting them to manage their own waste — one small group of women has shown that even the world's biggest plastic problem has a hopeful answer.