Jojo Morillo

Last April 28, 2026, I had the privilege of co-facilitating a Renewable Energy 101 session with more than 30 community and homeowners’ leaders from across Metro Manila and Rizal, in partnership with the Community Organizers Multiversity (COM) and Ugnayang Lakas ng mga Apektadong Pamilya (ULAP). COM was founded on the vision of building a learning institution where the knowledge, skills, and orientation of development practitioners could be continually strengthened and renewed so they can respond to changing social realities. That spirit of lifelong learning and adaptation was deeply felt throughout the session. Many of those who joined carried a burden that urban poor communities know too well: rising electricity bills, unreliable service, and the uneasy feeling of depending on systems they have little power to shape.

As the training unfolded, I realized we were doing more than sharing technical knowledge. We were opening a space to imagine how energy—so often treated as a private commodity—could once again be reclaimed as a common good.

One of the most meaningful moments came during our energy audit exercise. Electricity is often invisible in daily life; it simply arrives, then returns at the end of the month as another bill. But as we traced patterns of consumption and looked closely at where power is used, participants began to see energy differently. Awareness itself became a form of power. It marked the beginning of a shift from being passive consumers toward becoming communities capable of producing, managing, and governing their own energy future.

That transformation continued during our hands-on solar power station demonstration, where I shared examples of community renewable energy projects co-designed with students and educators at the Polytechnic University of the Philippines. The lesson was clear: a just transition cannot be handed down from above. Solar panels alone are not enough. Clean energy must be rooted in everyday community life through local leadership, shared learning, and practical ownership. When neighbors know how to maintain systems, solve problems, and build on what works, even small installations become more than backup power—they become proof that energy can be democratic, accessible, and responsive to people’s real needs.

For me, the deeper promise of this work lies beyond any single workshop or solar hub. As communities gain technical confidence, they also gain the capacity to engage local governments and push for policies that make energy justice possible—simpler net-metering systems, communal solar permits, and public support for decentralized solutions. Resilience becomes more than a household coping strategy; it becomes something that can be institutionalized.

We closed the session by reflecting on the story of Casa Pueblo in Adjuntas, Puerto Rico. After Hurricane Maria devastated the island, they did not wait for a profit-driven centralized grid to fix itself. They organized, built community-owned renewable systems, and proved that when power belongs to the people, recovery becomes possible.

That, to me, is the heart of energy democracy. It is the right of communities to decide how power is produced, shared, and sustained. A real just transition means urban poor communities are not treated as afterthoughts or passive recipients of green development, but as the architects of their own resilience. Integrating solar power is about more than lowering bills—it is about lighting a path toward dignity, sovereignty, and a future where those long pushed to the margins finally stand at the center.